LIBRARY 

JNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANTA    CRUZ 


SANTA     CRUZ 


Gift  oi 
Lera  C.    Brown 


SANTA     CRUZ 


HUSBAND'S   STORY 


The 
Husband's  Story 

A   NOVEL 


BY 

DAVID  GRAHAM  PHILLIPS 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  FASHIONABLE  ADVENTURES  OF 
JOSHUA  CRAIG,  OLD  WIVES  FOR  NEW 
THE  SECOND  GENERATION,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1910 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


•T 


THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY 


WHY 

SEVERAL  years  ago  circumstances  thrust  me  into  a 
position  in  which  it  became  possible  for  the  friend  who 
figures  in  these  pages  as  Godfrey  Loring  to  do  me  a 
favor.  He,  being  both  wise  and  kindly,  never  misses  a 
good  chance  to  put  another  under  obligations.  He  did 
me  the  favor.  I  gratefully,  if  reluctantly,  acquiesced. 
Now,  after  many  days,  he  collects.  When  you  shall  have 
read  what  follows,  you  may  utterly  reject  my  extenu 
ating  plea  that  any  and  every  point  of  view  upon  life 
is  worthy  of  attention,  even  though  it  serve  only  to 
confirm  us  in  our  previous  ideas  and  beliefs.  You  may 
say  that  I  should  have  repudiated  my  debt,  should  have 
refused  to  edit  and  publish  the  manuscript  he  confided 
to  me.  You  may  say  that  the  general  racial  obligation 
to  mankind — and  to  womankind — takes  precedence  over 
a  private  and  personal  obligation.  Unfortunately  I 
happen  to  be  not  of  the  philanthropic  temperament. 
My  sense  of  the  personal  is  strong;  nry  sense  of  the 
general  weak — that  is  to  say,  weak  in  comparison.  If 
"  Loring  "  had  been  within  reach,  I  think  I  should  have 
gone  to  him  and  pleaded  for  release.  But  as  luck  will 
have  it,  he  is  off  yachting,  to  peep  about  in  the  remote 

1 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

inlets  and  islets  of  Australasia  and  the  South  Seas  for 
several  years. 

To  aggravate  my  situation,  in  the  letter  accompany 
ing  the  manuscript,  after  several  pages  of  the  discrimi- 
^nating  praise  most  dear  to  a  writer's  heart,  he  did  me 
the  supreme  honor  of  saying  that  in  his  work  he  had 
"  striven  to  copy  as  closely  as  might  be  your  style  and 
your  methods — to  help  me  to  the  hearing  I  want  and 
to  lighten  your  labors  as  editor."  I  assure  him  and  the 
public  that  in  any  event  I  should  have  done  little  edit 
ing  of  his  curious  production  beyond  such  as  a  proof 
reader  might  have  found  necessary.  As  it  is,  I  have 
done  practically  no  editing  at  all.  In  form  and  in  sub 
stance,  from  title  to  finis,  the  work  is  his.  I  am  merely 
its  sponsor — and  in  circumstances  that  would  forbid  me 
were  I  disposed  to  qualify  my  sponsorship  with  even 
so  mild  a  disclaimer  as  reluctance. 

Have  I  said  more  than  a  loyal  friend  should?  If  so, 
on  the  other  hand,  have  I  not  done  all  that  a  loyal  friend 
could  ? 


I  AM  tempted  to  begin  with  our  arrival  in  Fifth  Ave 
nue,  New  York  City,  in  the  pomp  and  circumstance  be 
fitting  that  region  of  regal  splendor.  I  should  at  once 
catch  the  attention  of  the  women;  and  my  literary 
friends  tell  me  that  to  make  any  headway  with  a  story 
in  America  it  is  necessary  to  catch  the  women,  be 
cause  the  men  either  do  not  read  books  at  all  or  read 
only  what  they  hear  the  women  talking  about.  And  I 
know  well — none  knows  better — that  our  women  of  the 
book-buying  class,  and  probably  of  all  classes,  love  to 
amuse  their  useless  idleness  with  books  that  help  them 
to  dream  of  wasting  large  sums  of  money  upon  luxuries 
and  extravagances,  upon  entertaining  grand  people  in 
grand  houses  and  being  entertained  by  them.  They  tell 
me,  and  I  believe  it,  that  our  women  abhor  stories  of 
middle-class  life,  abhor  truth-telling  stories  of  any  kind, 
like  only  what  assures  them  that  the  promptings  of  their 
own  vanities  and  sentimental  shams  are  true. 

But  patience,  gentle  reader,  you  with  the  foolish, 
chimera-haunted  brain,  with  the  silly  ideas  of  life,  with 
the  ignorance  of  human  nature  including  your  own  self, 
with  the  love  of  sloppy  and  tawdry  clap  trap.  Pa 
tience,  gentle  reader.  While  I  shall  begin  humbly  in  the 
social  scale,  I  shall  not  linger  there  long.  I  shall  pass 

3 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

on  to  the  surroundings  of  grandeur  that  entrance  your 
snobbish  soul.  You  will  soon  smell  only  fine  perfumes, 
only  the  aromas  of  food  cooked  by  expensive  chefs. 
You  will  sit  in  drawing-rooms,  lie  in  bedrooms  as  mag 
nificent  as  the  architects  and  decorators  and  other  pur 
veyors  to  the  very  rich  have  been  able  to  concoct.  You 
will  be  tasting  the  fine  savors  of  fashionable  names  and 
titles  recorded  in  Burke's  and  the  "  Almanach  de 
Gotha."  Patience,  gentle  reader,  with  your  box  of  cara 
mels  and  your  hair  in  curl  papers  and  your  household 
work  undone — patience !  A  feast  awaits  you. 

There  has  been  much  in  the  papers  these  last  few 
years  about  the  splendid  families  we — my  wife  and  I — 
came  of.  Some  time  ago  one  of  the  English  dukes — 
a  nice  chap  with  nothing  to  do  and  a  quaint  sense  of 
humor — assembled  on  his  estate  for  a  sort  of  holiday 
and  picnic  all  the  members  of  his  ancient  and  proud 
family  who  could  be  got  together  by  several  months  of 
diligent  search.  It  was  a  strange  and  awful  throng  that 
covered  the  lawns  before  the  ducal  castle  on  the  ap 
pointed  day.  There  was  a  handful  of  fairly  presentable, 
more  or  less  prosperous  persons.  But  the  most  of  the 
duke's  cousins,  near  and  remote,  were  tramps,  bartend 
ers,  jail  birds,  women  of  the  town,  field  hands  male  and 
female,  sewer  cleaners,  chimney  sweeps,  needlewomen, 
curates,  small  shopkeepers,  and  others  of  the  species 
that  are  as  a  stench  unto  delicate,  aristocratic  nostrils. 
The  duke  was  delighted  with  his  picnic,  pronounced  it 
a  huge  success.  But  then  His  Grace  had  a  sense  of 
humor  and  was  not  an  American  aristocrat. 

All  this  by  way  of  preparation  for  the  admission 
4 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

that  the  branch  of  the  Loring  family  from  which  I  come 
and  the  branch  of  the  Wheatlands  family  to  which  the 
girl  I  married  belongs  were  far  from  magnificent,  were 
no  more  imposing  then,  well,  than  the  families  of  any 
of  our  American  aristocrats.  Like  theirs,  our  genea 
logical  tree,  most  imposingly  printed  and  bound  and 
proudly  exhibited  on  a  special  stand  in  the  library  of 
our  New  York  palace — that  genealogical  tree,  for  all 
its  air  of  honesty,  for  all  its  documentary  proofs,  worm- 
eaten  and  age-stained,  was  like  an  artificial  palm  bedded 
in  artificial  moss.  The  truth  is,  aristocracy  does  not 
thrive  in  America,  but  only  the  pretense  of  it,  and  that 
must  be  kept  alive  by  constant  renewals.  Both  here  and 
abroad  I  am  constantly  running  across  traces  of  illegiti 
macy,  substitution,  and  other  forms  of  genealogical  flim~ 
flam.  But  let  that  pass.  Whoever  is  or  is  not  aristo 
cratic,  certainly  Godfrey  Loring  and  Edna  Wheatlands 
are  not — or,  rather,  were  not. 

My  father  kept  a  dejected  little  grocery  in  Passaic^ 
N.  J.  He  did  not  become  a  "  retired  merchant  and  capi 
talist  "  until  I  was  able  to  retire  and  capitalize  him. 
Edna's  father  was —  No,  you  guess  wrong.  Not  a, 
butcher,  but — an  undertaker !  .  .  .  Whew !  I  am  glad 
to  have  these  shameful  secrets  "  off  the  chest,"  as  they 
say  in  the  Bowery.  He — this  Wheatlands,  undertaker 
to  the  poor  and  near-poor  of  the  then  village  of  Passalc 
— was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  snow-white  hair  and  a 
smooth,  gaunt,  gloomy  face  and  the  best  funeral  air  I 
have  ever  seen.  Edna  has  long  since  forgotten  him ;  she 
has  an  admirable  ability  absolutely  to  forget  anything 
she  may  for  whatever  reason  deem  it  inconvenient  to  re- 

5 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

member.  What  an  aid  to  conscience  is  such  a  quality ! 
But  I  have  not  forgotten  old  Weeping  Willy  Wheat- 
lands,  and  I  shall  not  forget  him.  It  was  he  who  loaned 
me  my  first  capital,  the  one  that —  But  I  must  not 
anticipate. 

In  those  days  Passaic  was  a  lowly  and  a  dreary  vil 
lage.  Its  best  was  cheap  enough;  its  poorest  was 
wretchedly  squalid.  The  "  seat "  of  the  Lorings  and 
the  "  seat  "  of  the  Wheatlands  stood  side  by  side  on  the 
mosquito  beset  banks  of  the  river — two  dingy  frame  cot 
tages,  a  story  and  a  half  in  height,  two  rooms  deep. 
We  Lorings  had  no  money,  for  my  father  was  an  honest, 
innocent  soul  with  a  taste  for  talking  what  he  thought 
was  politics,  though  in  fact  he  knew  no  more  of  the  reali 
ties  of  politics,  the  game  of  pull  Dick  pull  Devil  for 
licenses  to  fleece  a  "  free,  proud  and  intelligent  people  " 
— he  knew  no  more  of  that  reality  than — than  the  next 
honest  soul  you  may  hear  driveling  on  that  same  sub 
ject.  We  had  no  money,  but  "Weeping  Willie"  had 
plenty — and  saved  it,  blessings  on  him!  I  hate  to 
think  where  I  should  be  now,  if  he  hadn't  hoarded !  So, 
while  our  straightened  way  of  living  was  compulsory, 
that  of  the  Wheatlands  was  not.  But  this  is  unimpor 
tant;  the  main  point  is  both  families  lived  in  the  same 
humble  way. 

If  I  thought  "  gentle  reader  "  had  patience  and  real 
imagination — and,  yes,  the  real  poetic  instinct — I  should 
jgive  her  an  inventory  of  the  furniture  of  those  two  cot 
tages,  and  of  the  meager  and  patched  draperies  of  the 
two  Monday  wash  lines,  as  my  mother  and  Edna's 
another— and  Edna,  too.  when  she  grew  big  enough — • 

6 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

decorated  them,  the  while  shrieking  gossip  back  and 
forth  across  the  low  and  battered  board  fence.  But  I 
shall  not  linger.  It  is  as  well.  Those  memories  make 
me  sad — put  a  choke  in  my  throat  and  a  mist  before  my 
eyes.  Why?  If  you  can't  guess,  I  could  not  in  spoiling 
ten  reams  of  paper  explain  it  to  you.  One  detail  only, 
and  I  shall  hasten  on.  Both  families  lived  humbly,  but 
we  not  quite  so  humbly  as  the  Wheatlands  family,  be 
cause  my  mother  was  a  woman  of  some  neatness  and  en 
ergy  while  Ma  Wheatlands  was  at  or  below  the  do-easy, 
slattern  human  average.  We  had  our  regular  Saturday 
bath — in  the  wash  tub.  We  did  not  ever  eat  off  the 
stove.  And  while  we  were  patched  we  were  rarely 
ragged. 

In  those  days — even  in  those  days — Edna  was  a 
"  scrapper."  They  call  it  an  "  energetic  and  resolute 
personality  "  now ;  it  was  called  "  scrappy  "  then,  and 
scrappy  it  was.  When  I  would  be  chopping  wood  or 
lugging  in  coal,  so  occupied  that  I  did  not  dare  pause, 
she  would  sit  on  the  fence  in  her  faded  blue-dotted  calico, 
and  how  she  would  give  it  to  me !  She  knew  how  to  say 
the  thing  that  made  me  wild  with  the  rage  a  child  is  f 
ashamed  to  show.  Yes,  she  loved  to  tease  me,  perhaps 
— really,  I  hope — because  she  knew  I,  in  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  loved  to  be  teased  by  her,  to  be  noticed  in 
any  way.  And  mighty  pretty  she  looked  then,  with  her 
mop  of  yellowish  brown  hair  and  her  big  golden  brown 
eyes  and  her  little  face,  whose  every  feature  was  tilted 
to  the  angle  that  gives  precisely  the  most  fascinating- 
expression  of  pretty  pertness,  of  precocious  intelligence, 
or  of  devil-may-care  audacity.  She  has  always  been  a 

7 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

pretty  woman,  has  Edna,  and  always  will  be,  even  in 
old  age,  I  fancy.  Her  beauty,  like  her  health,  like  that 
strong,  supple  body  of  hers,  was  built  to  last.  What 
|  is  the  matter  with  the  generations  coming  forward  now? 
Why  do  they  bloom  only  to  wither  ?  What  has  sapped 
their  endurance?  Are  they  brought  up  too  soft?  Is  it 
the  food?  Is  it  the  worn-out  parents?  Why  am  I,  at 
forty,  younger  in  looks  and  in  strength  and  in  taste  for 
life  than  the  youths  of  thirty?  Why  is  Edna,  not  five 
years  my  junior,  more  attractive  physically  than  girls 
of  twenty-five  or  younger? 

But  she  was  only  eight  or  nine  at  the  time  of  which 
I  am  writing.  And  she  was  fond  of  me  then — really 
fond  of  me,  though  she  denied  it  furiously  when  the 
other  children  taunted,  and  though  she  was  always  jeer 
ing  at  me,  calling  me  awkward  and  homely.  I  don't 
think  I  was  notably  either  the  one  or  the  other,  but  for 
her  to  say  so  tended  to  throw  the  teasers  off  the  track 
and  also  kept  me  in  humble  subjection.  I  knew  she 

Scared,  because  when  we  played  kissing  games  she  would 
never  call  me  out,  would  call  out  every  other  boy,  but 
I  if  I  called  any  other  girl  she  would  sulk  and  treat  me 
^as  badly  as  she  knew  how.    Also,  while  she  had  nothing 
but  taunts  and  sarcasms  for  me  she  was  always  to  be 
found  in  the  Wheatlands'  back  yard  near  the  fence  or 
on  it  whenever  I  was  doing  chores  in  our  back  yard. 

After  two  years  in  the  High  School  I  went  to  work 
in  the  railway  office  as  a  sort  of  assistant  freight  clerk. 
She  kept  on  at  school,  went  through  the  High  School, 
graduated  in  a  white  dress  with  blue  ribbons,  and  then 
sat  down  to  wait  for  a  husband.  Her  father  and  mother 

8 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

were  sensible  people.  Heaven  knows  they  had  led  a 
hard  enough  life  to  have  good  sense  driven  into  them. 
But  the  tradition — the  lady-tradition — was  too  strong 
for  them.  They  were  not  ashamed  to  work,  themselves. 
They  would  have  been  both  ashamed  and  angry  had  it 
been  suggested  to  them  that  their  two  boys  should  be 
come  idlers.  But  they  never  thought  of  putting  their 
daughter  to  work  at  anything.  After  she  graduated 
and  became  a  young  lady,  she  was  not  compelled — would 
hardly  have  been  permitted — to  do  housework  or  sew- 
ing.  You  have  seen  the  potted  flower  in  the  miserable 
tenement  window — the  representative  of  the  life  that 
neither  toils  nor  spins,  but  simply  exists  in  idle  beauty. 
That  potted  bloom  concentrates  all  the  dreams,  all  the 
romantic  and  poetic  fancies  of  the  tenement  family.  I 
suppose  Edna  was  some  such  treasured  exotic  possession, 
to  those  toil-twisted  old  parents  of  hers.  They  wanted 
a  flower  in  the  house. 

Well,  they  had  it.  She  certainly  was  a  lovely  girl, 
far  too  lovely  to  be  spoiled  by  work.  And  if  ever  there 
was  a  scratch  or  a  stain  on  those  beautiful  white  hands  of 
hers,  it  assuredly  was  not  made  by  toil.  She  took  music 
lessons —  Music  lessons !  How  much  of  the  ridiculous, 
pathetic  gropings  after  culture  is  packed  into  those  two 
words.  Beyond  question,  everyone  ought  to  know  some 
thing  about  music ;  we  should  all  know  something  about 
eve^thing,  especially  about  the  things  that  peculiarly 
stand  for  civilization — science  and  art,  literature  and 
the  drama.  But  how  foolishly  we  are  set  at  it !  Instead 
of  learning  to  understand  and  to  appreciate  music,  we 
are  taught  to  "  beat  the  box  "  in  a  feeble,  clumsy  f ash- 

9 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ion,  or  to  screech  or  whine  when  we  have  no  voice  worth 
the  price  of  a  single  lesson.  Edna  took  I  don't  know  how 
many  lessons  a  week  for  I  don't  know  how  many  years. 
She  learned  nothing  about  music.  She  merely  learned  to 
strum  on  the  piano.  But,  after  all,  the  lessons  attained 
their  real  object.  They  made  Edna's  parents  and  Edna 
herself  and  all  the  neighbors  feel  that  she  was  indeed 
a  lady.  She  could  not  sew.  She  could  not  cook.  She 
hadn't  any  knowledge  worth  mention  of  any  practical 
thing — therefore,  had  no  knowledge  at  all ;  for,  unless 
knowledge  is  firmly  based  upon  and  in  the  practical,  it 
is  not  knowledge  but  that  worst  form  of  ignorance,  mis 
information.  She  didn't  know  a  thing  that  would  help 
her  as  woman,  wife,  or  mother.  But  she  could  play  the 
piano ! 

Some  day  some  one  will  write  something  true  on  the 
subject  of  education.  You  remember  the  story  of  the 
girl  from  Lapland  who  applied  for  a  place  as  servant 
in  New  York,  and  when  they  asked  her  what  she  could 
do,  she  said,  "  I  can  milk  the  reindeer." 

I  never  hear  the  word  education  that  I  don't  think 
of  that  girl.  One  half  of  the  time  spent  at  school,  to 
estimate  moderately,  and  nine  tenths  of  the  time  spent 
in  college  class  rooms  is  given  to  things  about  as  valu 
able  to  a  citizen  of  this  world  as  the  Lap  girl's  "  edu 
cation  "  to  a  New  York  domestic.  If  anyone  tells  you 
that  those  valueless  things  are  culture,  tell  him  that  only 
an  ignorance  still  becalmed  in  the  dense  mediaeval  fog 
would  talk  such  twaddle  ;  tell  him  that  science  has  taught 
!  us  what  common  sense  has  always  shown,  that  there  is  no 
'  beauty  divorced  from  use,  that  beauty  is  simply  the 

10 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

perfect  adaptation  of  the  thing  to  be  used  to  the  pur" 
pose  for  which  it  is  to  be  used.  I  am  a  business  man? 
not  a  smug,  shallow-pated  failure  teaching  in  an  anti 
quated  college.  I  abhor  the  word  culture,  as  I  abhor 
the  word  gentleman  or  the  word  lady,  because  of  the 
company  into  which  it  has  fallen.  So,  while  I  eagerly 
disclaim  any  taint  of  "  culture,"  I  insist  that  I  know 
what  I'm  talking  about  when  I  talk  of  education.  And 
if  I  had  not  been  too  good-natured,  my  girl —  But  I 
must  keep  to  the  story.  "  Gentle  reader "  wants  a 
story ;  he — or  she — does  not  want  to  try  to  think. 

It  was  pleasant  to  my  ignorant  ears  to  hear  Edna 
playing  sonatas  and  classical  barcaroles  and  dead 
marches  and  all  manner  of  loud  and  difficult  pieces. 
Such  sounds,  issuing  from  the  humble — and  not  too 
clean — Wheatlands  house  gave  it  an  atmosphere  of 
aristocracy,  put  tone  into  the  whole  neighborhood,  ele 
vated  the  Wheatlands  family  like  a  paper  collar  on  the 
calico  shirt  of  a  farm  hand.  If  we  look  at  ourselves 
rightly,  we  poor  smattering  seekers  after  a  little  showy 
knowledge  of  one  kind  or  another — a  dibble  of  French, 
a  dabble  of  Latin  or  Greek,  a  sputter  of  woozy  so-called 
philosophy — how  like  the  paper-collared  farm  hand  we 
are,  how  like  the  Hottentot  chief  with  a  plug  hat  atop 
his  naked  brown  body. 

But  Edna  pleased  me,  fully  as  much  as  she  pleased 
herself,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  I  wouldn't 
have  had  her  changed  in  the  smallest  particular.  I  was 
even  glad  she  could  get  rid  of  her  freckles — fascinating 
little  beauty  spots  sprinkled  upon  her  tip-tilted  little 
nose! 

11 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

She  was  not  so  fond  of  me  in  those  days.  I  had  a 
rival.  I  am  leaning  back  and  laughing  as  I  think  of 
him.  Charley  Putney !  He  was  clerk  in  a  largish  dry 
goods  store.  He  is  still  a  clerk  there,  I  believe,  and  no 
doubt  is  still  the  same  cheaply  scented,  heavily  poma 
tumed  clerkly  swell  he  was  in  the  days  when  I  feared 
and  hated  him.  The  store  used  to  close  at  six  o'clock. 
About  seven  of  summer  evenings  Charley  would  issue 
forth  from  his  home  to  set  the  hearts  of  the  girls  to  flut 
tering.  They  were  all  out,  waiting.  Down  the  street 
lie  would  come  with  his  hat  set  a  little  back  to  show 
the  beautiful  shine  and  part  and  roach  of  his  hair.  The 
.air  would  become  delicious  ( !)  with  bergamot,  occa 
sionally  varied  by  German  cologne  or  lemon  verbena. 
What  a  jaunty,  gay  tie!  What  an  elegant  suit!  And 
he  wore  a  big  seal  ring,  reputed  to  be  real  gold — and 
such  lively  socks !  Down  the  street  came  Charley,  all 
the  girls  palpitant.  At  which  stoop  or  front  gate 
would  he  stop? 

Often — only  too  often — it  was  at  the  front  gate 
next  ours.  How  I  hated  him ! 

And  the  cap  of  the  j  oke  is  that  Edna  nearly  married 
him.  In  this  land  where  the  social  stairs  are  crowded 
like  Jacob's  Ladder  with  throngs  ascending  and  descend 
ing,  what  a  history  it  would  make  if  the  grown  men  and 
women  of  any  generation  should  tell  whom  they  almost 
married ! 

Yes,  Edna  came  very  near  to  marrying  him.  She 
was  a  lady.  She  did  not  know  exactly  what  that  meant. 
The  high-life  novels  she  read  left  her  hazy  on  the  sub 
ject,  because  to  understand  any  given  thing  we  must 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

have  knowledge  that  enables  us  to  connect  it  with  the 
things  we  already  know.  A  snowball  would  be  an  un 
fathomable  mystery  to  a  savage  living  in  an  equatorial 
plam.  A  matter  of  politics  or  finance  or  sociology  or 
real  art,  real  literature,  real  philosophy,  seems  dull  and 
meaningless  to  a  woman  or  to  the  average  mutton- 
brained  man.  But  if  you  span  the  gap  between  knowl 
edge  of  any  subject  and  a  woman's  or  a  man's  ignorance 
of  that  subject  with  however  slender  threads  of  connect 
ing  knowledge,  she  or  he  can  at  once  bridge  it  and 
begin  to  reap  the  new  fields.  Edna  could  not  find  any 
thread  whatever  for  the  gap  between  herself  and  that 
fairy  land  of  high  life  the  novels  told  her  about.  In 
those  days  there  was  no  high  life  in  Passaic.  I  suppose 
there  is  now — or,  at  least,  Passaic  thinks  there  is — 
and  in  purely  imaginary  matters  the  delusion  of  pos 
session  is  equal  to,  even  better  than,  possession  itself. 
So,  with  no  high  life  to  use  as  a  measure,  with  only  the 
instinct  that  her  white  smooth  hands  and  her  dresses 
modeled  on  the  latest  Paris  fashions  as  illustrated  in  the 
monthly  "  Lady  Book,"  and  her  music  lessons,  her  taste 
for  what  she  then  regarded  as  literature — with  only  her 
instinct  that  all  these  hallmarks  must  stamp  her  twenty- 
four  carat  lady,  she  had  to  look  about  her  for  a  match 
ing  gentleman.  And  there  was  Charley,  the  one  person 
within  vision  who  suggested  the  superb  heroes  of  the 
high-life  novels.  I  will  say  to  the  credit  of  her  good 
taste  that  she  had  her  doubts  about  Charley.  Indeed, 
if  his  sweet  smell  and  his  smooth  love-making — Charley 
excelled  as  a  love  maker,  being  the  born  ladies'  man — if 
the  man,  or,  rather,  the  boy,  himself  had  not  won  her 
2  13 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

heart,  she  would  soon  have  tired  of  him  and  would  have 
suspected  his  genuineness  as  a  truly  gentleman.  But 
she  fell  in  love  with  him. 

There  was  a  long  time  during  which  I  thought  the 
reason  she  returned  to  me — or,  rather,  let  me  return  to 
her — was  because  she  fell  out  of  love  with  him.  Then 
there  was  a  still  longer  time  when  I  thought  the  reason 
was  the  fact  that  the  very  Saturday  I  got  a  raise  to  four 
teen  a  week,  he  fell  from  twelve  to  eight.  But  latterly 
I  have  known  the  truth.  How  many  of  us  know  the 
truth,  the  down-at-the-bottom,  absolute  truth,  about 
why  she  married  us  instead  of  the  other  fellow?  Very 
few,  I  guess — or  we'd  be  puffing  our  crops  and  flirting 
our  feathers  less  cantily.  She  took  up  with  me  again 
because  he  dropped  her.  It  was  he  that  saved  her,  not 
she  or  I.  Only  a  few  months  ago,  her  old  mother,  dod 
dering  on  in  senility,  with  memory  dead  except  for  early 
happenings,  and  these  fresh  and  vivid,  said :  "  And 
when  I  think  how  nigh  Edny  come  to  marryin'  up  with 
that  there  loud-smelling  dude  of  a  Charley  Putney !  If 
he  hadn't  'a  give  her  the  go  by,  she'd  sure  'a  made  a 
fool  of  herself — a  wantin'  me  and  her  paw  to  offer  him 
money  and  a  job  in  the  undertakin'  store,  to  git  him 
back.  Lawsy  me !  What  a  narrer  squeak  fur  Princess 
Edny ! " 

Be  patient,  gentle  reader !  You  shall  soon  be  read 
ing  things  that  will  efface  the  coarse  impression  my  old 
mother-in-law's  language  and  all  these  franknesses  about 
our  beginnings  must  have  made  upon  your  refined  and 
cultured  nature.  Swallow  a  caramel  and  be  patient. 
But  don't  skip  these  pages.  If  you  should,  you  would 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

miss  the  stimulating  effect  of  contrast,  not  to  speak  of 
other  benefits  which  I,  probably  vainly,  hope  to  confer 
upon  you. 

She  didn't  love  me.  Looking  back,  I  see  that  for 
many  months  she  found  it  difficult  to  endure  me.  But  it 
was  necessary  that  she  carry  off — with  the  neighbor 
hood  rather  than  with  me — her  pretense  of  having  cast 
off  Charley  because  she  preferred  me.  We  can  do  won 
ders  in  the  way  of  concealing  wrounded  pride ;  we  can  do 
equal  wonders  in  the  way  of  preserving  a  reputation 
for  unbroken  victory.  And  I  believe  she  honestly  liked 
me.  Perhaps  she  liked  me  even  more  than  she  liked  her 
aromatic  Charley;  for,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  we 
like  best  where  we  love  most.  I  am  loth  to  believe — I 
do  not  believe — that  at  so  early  an  age,  not  quite  seven 
teen,  she  could  have  received  my  caresses  and  returned 
them  with  plausibility  enough  to  deceive  me,  unless  she 
had  genuinely  liked  me. 

And  what  a  lucky  fellow  I  thought  myself!  And 
how  I  patronized  the  perfumed  man.  And  what  a 
thrashing  I  gave  him — poor,  harmless,  witless  creature! 
— when  I  heard  of  his  boastings  that  he  had  dropped 
Edna  Wheatlands  because  he  found  Sally  Simpson  pret 
tier  and  more  cultured! 

I  must  have  been  a  railway  man  born.  At  twenty- 
two — no,  six  months  after  my  majority — I  was  jumped 
into  a  head  clerkship  at  twelve  hundred  a  year.  Big 
pay  for  a  youngster  in  those  days;  not  so  bad  for  a 
youngster  even  in  these  inflated  years.  When  I  brought 
Edna  the  news  I  think  she  began  to  love  me.  To  her 
that  salary  was  a  halo,  a  golden  halo  round  me — made 

15 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

me  seem  a  superior  person.  She  had  long  thought 
highly  of  my  business  abilities,  for  she  was  shrewd  and 
had  listened  when  the  older  people  talked,  and  they  were 
all  for  me  as  the  likeliest  young  man  of  the  neighbor 
hood. 

"  I've  had  another  raise,"  said  I  carelessly.  We  were 
sitting  on  her  front  porch,  she  upon  the  top  step,  I 
two  steps  down. 

"  Another !  "  she  said.  "  Why,  the  last  was  only 
two  months  ago." 

"  Yes,  they've  pushed  me  up  to  twelve  hundred  a 
year — a  little  more,  for  it's  twenty-five  per." 

"  Gee !  "  she  exclaimed,  and  I  can  see  her  pretty  face 
now — all  aglow,  beaming  a  reverent  admiration  upon  me. 

I  rather  thought  I  deserved  it.  But  it  has  ever 
been  one  of  my  vanities  to  pretend  to  take  my  successes 
as  matters  of  course,  and  even  to  depreciate  them.  They 
say  the  English  invariably  win  in  diplomacy  because 
they  act  dissatisfied  with  what  they  get,  never  grumbling 
so  sourly  as  when  they  capture  the  whole  hog.  I  can 
believe  it.  That  has  been  my  policy,  and  it  has  worked 
rather  well.  Still,  any  policy  works  well  if  the  man  has 
the  gift  for  success.  "  Twenty-five  per,"  I  repeated,  to 
impress  it  still  more  deeply  upon  her  and  to  revel  in  the 
thrilling  words.  "  Before  I  get  through  I'll  make  them 
pay  me  what  I'm  worth." 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  ever  be  making  more  than 
that  ?  "  exclaimed  she,  wonderingly . 

"  I'll  be  getting  two  thousand  some  day,"  said  I,  far 
more  confidently  than  I  felt. 

"  Oh— Godfrey !  "  she  said  softly. 
16 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

And  as  I  looked  at  her  I  for  the  first  time  felt  a  cer 
tain  peculiar  thrill  that  comes  only  when  the  soul  of  the 
woman  a  man  loves  rushes  forth  to  cling  to  his  soul. 
In  my  life  I  have  never  had — and  never  shall  have — a 
happier  moment. 

Once  more  patience,  gentle  reader !  I  know  this  bit 
of  sordidness — this  glow  of  sentiment  upon  a  vulgar  ma 
terial  incident — disgusts  your  delicate  soul.  I  am  aware 
that  you  have  a  proper  contempt  for  all  the  coarse  de 
tails  of  life.  You  would  not  be  gentle  reader  if  you 
hadn't.  You  would  be  a  plain  man  or  woman,  living 
busily  and  usefully,  and  making  people  happy  in  the 
plain  ways  in  which  the  human  animal  finds  happiness. 
You  would  not  be  devoting  your  days  to  making  soul- 
food  out  of  idealistic  moonshine  and  dreaming  of  ways 
to  dazzle  yourself  and  your  acquaintances  into  thinking 
you  a  superior  person. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  my  pretty  Edna,  advancing 
her  hand  at  least  half  way  toward  meeting  mine,  "  do 
you  know,  I've  had  an  instinct,  a  presentiment  of  this? 
I  was  dreaming  it  when  I  woke  up  this  morning.'' 

I've  observed  that  every  woman  in  her  effort  to  prove 
herself  "  not  like  other  girls  "  pretends  to  some  occult 
or  other  equally  supranatural  quality.  One  dreams 
dreams.  Another  gets  spirit  messages.  A  third  has 
seen  ghosts.  Another  has  a  foot  which  sculptors  have 
longed  to  model.  A  fifth  has  a  note  in  her  voice  which 
the  throat  specialists  pronounce  unique  in  the  human 
animal  and  occurring  only  in  certain  rare  birds  and 
Sarah  Bernhardt.  I  met  one  not  long  ago  who  had 
several  too  many  or  too  few  skins,  I  forget  which,  and 

17 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

as  a  result  was  endowed  with  I  cannot  recall  what 
nervous  qualities  quite  peculiar  to  herself,  and  somehow 
most  valuable  and  fascinating.  In  that  early  stage  of 
her  career  my  Edna  was  "  hipped  "  upon  a  rather  com 
monplace  personal  characteristic — the  notion  that  she 
had  premonitions,  was  a  sort  of  seeress  or  prophetess. 
Later  she  dropped  it  for  one  less  tiresome  and  over 
worked.  But  I  recall  that  even  in  that  time  of  my  deep 
est  infatuation  I  wished  to  hear  as  little  as  possible 
about  the  occult.  Of  all  the  shallow,  foggy  fakes  that 
attract  ignorant  and  miseducated  people  the  occult  is 
the  most  inexcusable  and  boring.  A  great  many  people, 
otherwise  apparently  rather  sensible,  seem  honestly  to 
believe  in  it.  But,  being  sensible,  they  don't  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it.  They  treat  it  as  practical  men 
treat  the  idiotic  in  the  creeds  and  the  impossible  in  the 
moral  codes  of  the  churches  to  which  they  belong — that 
is,  they  assent  and  proceed  to  dismiss  and  to  forget. 

However,  I  was  not  much  impressed  by  Edna's  at 
tempt  to  dazzle  me  with  her  skill  as  a  Sibyl.  But  I  was 
deeply  impressed  by  the  awe-inspiring  softness  and 
shapeliness  of  her  hand  lying  prisoner  in  mine.  And  I 
was  moved  to  the  uttermost  by  the  kisses  and  embraces 
we  exchanged  in  the  gathering  dusk.  "  I  love  you,"  she 
murmured  into  my  ecstatic  ear.  "  You  are  so  different 
from  the  other  men  round  here." 

I  dilated  with  pride. 

"  So  far  ahead  of  them  in  every  way." 

"Ahead  of  Charley  Putney?"  said  I,  jocose  but 
jealous  withal. 

She  laughed  with  a  delightful  look  of  contemptuous 
18 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

scorn  in  her  cute  face.  "  Oh,  Tie!  "  she  scoffed.  "  He's 
getting  only  eight  a  week,  and  he'll  never  get  any 
more." 

"  Not  if  his  boss  has  sense,"  said  I,  thinking  myself 
judicial.  "  But  let's  talk  about  ourselves.  We  can  be 
married  now." 

I  advanced  this  timidly,  for  being  a  truly-in-love 
lover  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  her,  a  little  uncertain  of 
this  priceless  treasure.  But  she  answered  promptly, 
"  Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  that." 

"  Let's  do  it  right  away,"  proposed  I. 

"  Oh,  not  for  several  weeks.    It  wouldn't  be  proper." 

"Why  not?" 

She  couldn't  explain.  She  only  knew  that  there  was 
something  indecent  about  haste  in  such  matters,  that 
the  procedure  must  be  slow  and  orderly  and  stately. 
"  We'll  marry  the  first  of  next  month,"  she  finally  de 
cided,  and  I  joyfully  acquiesced. 

Some  of  my  readers — both  of  the  gentle  and  of  the 
other  kind — may  be  surprised  that  a  girl  of  seventeen 
should  be  so  self-assured,  so  independent.  They  must 
remember  that  she  was  a  daughter  of  the  people;  and 
among  the  people  a  girl  of  seventeen  was,  and  I  suppose 
still  is,  ready  for  marriage,  ready  and  resolved  to  de 
cide  all  important  matters  for  herself.  At  seventeen 
Edna,  in  self-poise  and  in  experience,  judgment  and  all 
the  other  mature  qualities,  was  the  equal  of  the  carefully 
sheltered  girl  of  twenty-five  or  more.  She  may  have 
been  brought  up  a  lady,  may  have  been  in  all  essential 
ways  as  useless  as  the  most  admired  of  that  weariful 
and  worthless  class.  But  the  very  nature  of  her  sur- 

19 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

roundings,  in  that  simple  household  and  that  simple 
community,  had  given  her  a  certain  practical  education. 
And  I  may  say  here  that  to  it  she  owes  all  she  is  to 
day.  Do  not  forget  this,  gentle  reader,  as  you  read 
about  her  and  as  she  dazzles  you.  As  you  look  at  the 
gorgeous  hardy  rose  do  not  forget  that  such  spring 
only  from  the  soil,  develop  only  in  the  open. 

That  very  evening  we  began  to  look  for  a  home. 
As  soon  as  we  were  outside  her  front  gate  she  turned 
in  the  direction  of  the  better  part  of  the  town.  Nor 
did  she  pause  or  so  much  as  glance  at  a  house  until  we 
were  clear  of  the  neighborhood  in  which  we  had  always 
lived,  and  "were  among  houses  much  superior.  I  ad 
mired,  and  I  still  admire,  this  significant  move  of  hers. 
It  was  the  gesture  of  progress,  of  ambition.  It  was- 
splendidly  American.  Lmyself  should  have  been  content 
to  settle  down  near  our  fathers  and  mothers,  among  the 
people  we  knew.  I  should  no  doubt  have  been  better 
satisfied  to  keep  up  the  mode  of  living  to  which  we  had 
been  used  all  our  lives.  The  time  would  have  come 
when  I  should  have  reached  out  for  more  comfort  and  for 
luxury.  But  it  was  natural  that  she  should  develop  in 
this  direction  before  I  did.  She  had  read  her  novels 
and  her  magazines,  had  the  cultured  woman's  innate 
fondness  for  dress  and  show,  had  had  nothing  but  those 
kinds  of  things  to  think  about;  I  had  been  too  busy 
trying  to  make  money  to  have  any  time  for  getting 
ideas  about  spending  it. 

No ;  while  her  motive  in  seeking  better  things  than 
we  had  known  was  in  the  main  a  vanity  and  a  sham,  her 
action  had  as  much  initial  good  in  it  as  if  her  motive 

20 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

had  been  sensible  and  helpful.  And  back  of  the  motive 
lay  an  instinct  for  getting  up  in  the  world  that  has 
been  the  redeeming  and  preserving  trait  in  her  char 
acter.  It  was  this  instinct  that  ought  to  have  made 
her  the  fit  wife  for  an  ambitious  and  advancing  man. 
You  will  presently  see  how  this  fine  and  useful  instinct 
was  perverted  by  vanity  and  false  education  and  the  per 
nicious  example  of  other  women. 

"  The  rents  are  much  higher  in  this  neighborhood," 
said  I,  with  a  doubtful  but  admiring  look  round  at  the 
pretty  houses  and  their  well-ordered  grounds. 

"  Of  course,"  said  she.  "  But  maybe  we  can  find 
smething.  Anyway,  it  won't  do  any  harm  to  look." 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  assented,  for  I  liked  the  idea  myself. 
This  better  neighborhood  looked  more  like  her  than  her 
own,  seemed  to  her  lover's  eyes  exactly  suited  to  her 
beauty  and  her  stylishness — for  the  "  Lady  Book  "  was 
teaching  her  to  make  herself  far  more  attractive  to  the 
eye  than  were  the  other  girls  over  in  our  part  of  town. 
I  still  puzzle  at  why  Charley  Putney  gave  her  up ;  the 
only  plausible  theory  seems  to  be  that  she  was  so  sick 
in  love  with  him  that  she  wearied  him.  The  most  attract 
ive  girl  in  the  world,  if  she  dotes  on  a  young  man  too 
ardently,  will  turn  his  stomach,  and  alarm  his  delicate 
sense  of  feminine  propriety. 

As  we  walked  on,  she  with  an  elate  and  proud  air, 
she  said :  "  How  different  it  smells  over  here !  " 

At  first  I  didn't  understand  what  she  meant.  But, 
as  I  thought  of  her  remark,  the  meaning  came.  And  I 
believe  that  was  the  beginning  of  my  dissatisfaction  with 
what  I  had  all  my  life  had  in  the  way  of  surroundings. 


THE    HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  have  since  observed  that  the  sense  of  smell  is  blunt, 
is  almost  latent,  in  people  of  the  lower  orders,  and  that 
it  becomes  more  acute  and  more  sensitive  as  we  ascend 
in  the  social  scale.  Up  to  that  time  my  ambition  to 
rise  had  been  rather  indefinite — a  desire  to  make  money 
which  everyone  seemed  to  think  was  the  highest  aim  in 
life — and  also  an  instinct  to  beat  the  other  fellows  work 
ing  with  me.  Now  it  became  definite.  I  began  to  smell. 
I  wanted  to  get  away  from  unpleasant  smells.  I  do  not 
mean  that  this  was  a  resolution,  all  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  I  simply  mean  that,  as  everything  must  have 
a  beginning,  that  remark  of  hers  was  for  me  the  begin 
ning  of  a  long  and  slow  but  steady  process  of  what 
may  be  called  civilizing. 

Presently  she  said :  "  If  we  couldn't  afford  a  house, 
we  might  take  one  of  the  flats." 

"  But  I'm  afraid  you'd  be  lonesome,  away  off  from 
everybody  we  know." 

She  tossed  her  head.  "  A  good  lonesome,"  said  she. 
"  I'm  tired  of  common  people.  I  was  reading  about  re 
incarnations  the  other  day." 

"  Good  Lord!  "  laughed  I.     «  What  are  they?  " 

She  explained — as  well  as  she  could — probably  as 
well  as  anybody  could.  I  admired  her  learning  but  the 
thing  itself  did  not  interest  me.  "  I  guess  there  must  be 
something  in  it,"  she  went  on.  "  I'm  sure  in  a  former 
life  I  was  something  a  lot  different  from  what  I  am  now." 

"  Oh,  you're  all  right,"  I  assured  her,  putting  my 
arm  round  her  in  the  f  Fondly  darkness  of  a  row  of  side 
walk  elms. 

When  we  had  indulged  in  an  interlude  of  love-mak- 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing,  she  returned  to  the  original  subject.  "I  wonder 
how  much  rent  we  could  afford  to  pay,"  said  she. 

"  They  say  the  rent  ought  never  to  be  more  per 
month  than  the  income  is  per  week." 

"  Then  we  could  pay  twenty-five  a  month." 

That  seemed  to  me  a  lot  to  pay — and,  indeed,  it  was. 
But  she  did  not  inherit  Weeping  Willie's  tightness; 
and  she  had  never  had  money  to  spend  or  any  training 
in  either  making  or  spending  money.  That  is  to  say, 
she  was  precisely  as  ignorant  of  the  main  business  of 
life  as  is  the  rest  of  American  womanhood  under  our 
ridiculous  system  of  education.  So,  twenty-five  dollars 
a  month  rent  meant  nothing  to  her.  "  We  can't  do 
anything  to-night,"  said  she.  "  But  I've  got  my  days 
free,  and  I'll  look  at  different  places,  and  when  I  find 
several  to  choose  from  we  can  come  in  the  evening  or 
on  Sunday  and  decide." 

This  suited  me  exactly.  We  dismissed  the  matter, 
hunted  out  a  shady  nook,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  our 
selves  after  the  manner  of  young  lovers  on  a  fine  night. 
Never  before  had  she  given  herself  freely  to  love.  I 
know  now  it  was  because  never  before  had  she  loved  me. 
I  was  deliriously  happy  that  night,  and  I  am  sure  she 
was  too.  She  no  less  than  I  had  the  ardent  temperament 
that  goes  with  the  ambitious  nature ;  and  now  that  she 
was  idealizing  me  into  the  man  who  could  lead  her  to  the 
fairy  lands  she  dreamed  of,  she  gave  me  her  whole  heart. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  what  was  beyond  question 
the  happiest  period  of  both  our  lives.  I  have  a  dim 
old  photograph  of  us  two  taken  about  that  time.  At  a 
glance  you  see  it  is  the  picture  of  two  young  people  of 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  working  class — two  green,  unformed  creatures, 
badly  dressed  and  gawkily  self-conscious.  But  there  is 
a  look  in  her  face — and  in  mine —  To  be  quite  honest, 
Fm  glad  I  don't  look  like  that  now.  I  wouldn't  go  back 
if  I  could.  Nevertheless —  How  we  loved  each  other ! 
— and  how  happy  we  were ! 

I  feel  that  I  weary  you,  gentle  reader.  There  is  in 
my  sentiment  too  much  about  wages  and  flat  rents  and 
the  smells  that  come  from  people  who  work  hard  and 
live  in  poor  places  and  eat  badly  cooked  strong  food. 
But  that  is  not  my  fault.  It  is  life.  And  if  you  believe 
that  your  and  your  romancers'  tawdry  imaginings  are 
better  than  life — well,  you  may  not  be  so  wise  or  so  ex 
alted  as  you  fancy. 

The  upshot  of  our  inspecting  places  to  live  and  hag 
gling  over  prices  was  that  we  took  a  flat  in  the  best 
quarter  of  Passaic — the  top  and  in  those  elevatorless 
days  the  cheapest  flat  in  the  house.  We  were  to  pay 
forty  dollars  a  month — a  stiff  rent  that  caused  excite 
ment  in  our  neighborhood  and  set  my  mother  and  her 
father  to  denouncing  us  as  a  pair  of  fools  bent  upon 
ruin.  I  thought  so,  myself.  But  I  could  have  denied 
Edna  nothing  at  that  time,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
by  working  harder  than  ever  at  the  railway  office  I 
would  compel  another  raise.  When  I  told  my  mother 
about  this  secret  resolve  of  mine,  she  said : 

"  If  you  do  get  more  money,  Godfrey,  don't  tell 
Edna.  She's  a  fool.  She'll  keep  your  nose  to  the  grind 
stone  all  your  life  if  you  ain't  careful.  It  takes  a  better 
money-maker  than  you're  likely  to  be  to  hold  up  against 
that  kind  of  a  woman." 

24* 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Oh,  she's  like  all  girls,"  said  I. 

"  That's  just  it,"  replied  my  mother.  "  That's  why 
I  ain't  got  no  use  for  women.  Look  what  poor  man 
agers  they  are.  Look  how  they  idle  and  waste  and  run 
into  debt." 

"  But  there's  a  lot  to  be  said  against  the  men,  too. 
Saloons,  for  instance." 

"  And  talkin'  politics  with  loafers,"  said  my  father's 
wife  bitterly. 

"  I  guess  the  trouble  with  men  and  women  is  they're 
too  human,"  said  I,  who  had  inherited  something  of  the 
philosopher  from  my  father.  "  And,  mother,  a  man's 
got  to  get  married — and  he's  got  to  marry  a  woman." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  has,"  she  grudgingly  assented. 
"  Mighty  poor  providers  most  of  the  men  is,  and  mighty 
poor  use  the  women  make  of  what  little  the  men  brings 
home.  But  about  you  and  Edny  Wheatlands —  You 
ought  to  do  better'n  her,  Godfrey.  You're  caught  by 
her  looks  and  her  style  and  her  education.  None  of 
them  things  makes  a  good  wife." 

"  I  certainly  wouldn't  marry  a  girl  that  didn't  have 
them — all  three." 

"  But  there's  something  more,"  insisted  mother. 

"  One  woman  can't  have  everything,"  said  I. 

"  No,  but  she  can  have  what  I  mean — and  she's  not 
much  good  to  a  man  without  it.  If  you're  set  on  marry 
ing  her  wait  till  you  re  ready,  anyhow.  She  never  will 
be." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  mother  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  you've  got  money  in  the  savings  bank. 
Wait  till  you've  got  used  to  having  money.  Then  maybe 

25 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

you'll  be  able  to  put  a  bit  on  a  spendthrift  wife  even 
if  you  are  crazy  about  her.  You're  making  a  wrong 
start  with  her,  Godfrey.  You're  giving  her  the  upper 
hand,  and  that's  bad  for  women  like  her — mighty  bad." 

It  was  from  my  mother  that  I  get  my  ability  at  busi 
ness.  She  and  I  often  had  sensible  talks,  and  her  advice 
started  me  right  in  the  railroad  office  and  kept  me  right 
until  I  knew  my  way.  So  I  did  not  become  angry  at 
her  plain  speaking,  but  appreciated  its  good  sense,  even 
though  I  thought  her  prejudiced  against  my  Edna. 
However,  I  had  not  the  least  impulse  to  put  off  the  mar 
riage.  My  one  wish  was  to  hasten  it.  Never  before 
or  since  was  time  so  leisurely.  But  the  day  dragged 
itself  up  at  last,  and  we  were  married  in  church,  at 
what  seemed  to  us  then  enormous  expense.  There  was 
a  dinner  afterward  at  which  everyone  ate  and  drank 
too  much — a  coarse  and  common  scene  which  I  will  spare 
gentle  reader.  Edna  and  I  went  up  to  New  York  City 
for  a  Friday  to  Monday  honeymoon.  But  we  were  back 
to  spend  Sunday  night  in  our  grand  forty-dollar  flat. 
On  Monday  morning  I  went  to  work  again — a  married 
man,  an  important  person  in  the  community. 

Never  has  any  height  I  have  attained  or  seen  since 
equalled  the  grandeur  of  that  forty-dollar  flat.  My 
common  sense  tells  me  that  it  was  a  small  and  poor 
affair.  I  remember,  for  example,  that  the  bathroom 
was  hardly  big  enough  to  turn  round  in.  I  recall  that 
I  have  sat  by  the  window  in  the  parlor  and  without 
rising  have  reached  a  paper  on  a  table  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  But  these  hard  facts  in  no  way  interfere 
with  or  correct  the  flat  as  my  imagination  persists  in 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

picturing  it.  What  vistas  of  rooms ! — what  high  ceil 
ings — what  woodwork — and  plumbing ! — and  what  mag 
nificent  furniture !  Edna's  father,  in  a  moment  of  gen 
erosity,  told  her  he  would,  pay  for  the  outfitting  of  the 
household.  'And  being  in  the  undertaking  business  he 
could  get  discounts  on  furniture  and  even  on  kitchen 
utensils.  Edna  did  the  selecting.  I  thought  every 
thing  wonderful  and,  as  I  have  said,  my  imagination 
refuses  to  recreate  the  place  as  it  actually  was.  But  I 
recall  that  there  was  a  brave  show  of  red  and  of  plush, 
and  we  all  know  what  that  means.  Whether  her  "  Lady 
Book  "  had  miseducated  her  or  her  untrained  eyes,  ex 
cited  by  the  gaudiness  she  saw  when  she  went  shopping, 
had  beguiled  her  from  the  counsels  of  the  "  Lady  Book," 
I  do  not  know.  But  I  am  sure,  as  I  recall  red  and  plush, 
that  our  first  home  was  the  typical  horror  inhabited  by 
the  extravagant  working-class  family. 

No  matter.  There  we  were  in  Arcadia.  For  a  time 
her  restless  soaring  fancy,  wearied  perhaps  by  its  auda 
cious  flight  to  this  lofty  perch  of  red  and  plush  and 
forty  dollars  a  month,  folded  its  wings  and  was  content. 
For  a  time  her  pride  and  satisfaction  in  the  luxurious 
newness  overcame  her  distaste  and  disdain  and  moved 
her  to  keep  things  spotless.  I  recall  the  perfume  of 
cleanness  that  used  to  delight  my  nostrils  at  my  evening 
homecoming,  and  then  the  intoxicating  perfume  of  Edna 
herself — the  aroma  of  healthy  young  feminine  beauty. 
We  loved  each  other,  simply,  passionately,  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way.  With  the  growth  of  intelligence,  with 
the  realization  on  the  part  of  men  that  her  keep  is  a 
large  part  of  the  reason  in  the  woman's  mind  if  not  in 

27 


THE ^H^SBAND'S   STORY 

her  heart  for  marrying  and  loving,  there  has  come  a 
decline  and  decay  of  the  former  reverence  and  awe  of 
man  toward  woman.  Also,  the  men  nowadays  know 
more  about  the  mystery  of  woman,  know  everything 
about  it,  where  not  so  many  years  ago  a  pure  woman 
was  to  a  man  a  real  religious  mystery.  Her  physical 
being,  the  clothes  she  wore  underneath,  the  supposedly 
sweet  and  clean  thoughts,  nobler  than  his,  that  dwelt 
in  the  temple  of  her  soul — these  things  surrounded  a 
girl  with  an  atmosphere  of  thrilling  enigma  for  the 
youth  who  won  from  her  lips  and  from  the  church  the 
right  to  explore. 

All  that  has  passed,  or  almost  passed.  I  am  one 
of  those  who  believe  that  what  has  come,  or,  rather,  is 
coming,  to  take  its  place  is  better,  finer,  nobler.  But 
the  old  order  had  its  charm.  What  a  charm  for  me ! — 
who  had  never  known  any  woman  well,  who  had  dreamed 
of  her  passionately  but  purely  and  respectfully.  There 
was  much  of  pain — of  shyness,  fear  of  offending  her 
higher  nature,  uneasiness  lest  I  should  be  condemned 
and  cast  out — in  those  early  days  of  married  life.  But 
it  was  a  sweet  sort  of  pain.  And  when  we  began  to  un 
derstand  each  other — to  be  human,  though  still  on  our 
best  behavior — when  we  found  that  we  were  congenial, 
were  happy  together  in  ways  undreamed  of,  life  seemed 
to  be  paying  not  like  the  bankrupt  it  usually  is  when 
the  time  for  redeeming  its  promises  comes  but  like  a 
benevolent  prodigal,  like  a  lottery  whose  numbers  all 
draw  capital  prizes.  I  admit  the  truth  of  much  the 
pessimists  have  to  say  against  Life.  But  one  thing  I 
must  grant  it.  When  in  its  rare  generous  moments  it 

28 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

relents,  it  does  know  how  to  play  the  host  at  the  feast — 
how  to  spread  the  board,  how  to  fill  the  flagons  and 
to  keep  them  filled,  how  to  scatter  the  wreaths  and  the 
garlands,  how  to  select  the  singers  and  the  dancers  who 
help  the  banqueters  make  merry.  When  I  remember 
my  honeymoon,  I  almost  forgive  you,  Life,  for  the 
shabby  tricks  you  have  played  me. 

Now  I  can  conceive  a  honeymoon  that  would  last 
on  and  on,  not  in  the  glory  and  feverish  joy  of  its  first 
period,  but  in  a  substantial  and  satisfying  human  hap 
piness.  But  not  a  honeymoon  with  a  wife  who  is  no 
more  fitted  to  be  a  wife  than  the  office  boy  is  fitted  to 
step  in  and  take  the  president's  job.  Patience,  gentle 
reader !  I  know  how  this  sudden  shriek  of  discord  across 
the  amorous  strains  of  the  honeymoon  music  must  have 
jarred  your  nerves.  But  be  patient  and  I  will  explain. 

Except  ourselves,  every  other  family  in  the  house, 
in  the  neighborhood,  had  at  least  one  servant.  We  had 
none.  If  Edna  had  been  at  all  economical  we  might 
have  kept  a  cook  and  pinched  along.  But  Edna  spent 
carelessly  all  the  money  I  gave  her,  and  I  gave  her 
all  there  was.  A  large  part  of  it  went  for  finery  for 
her  personal  adornment,  trash  of  which  she  soon  tired — 
much  of  it  she  disliked  as  soon  as  it  came  home  and  she 
tried  it  on  without  the  saleslady  to  flatter  and  confuse. 
I — in  a  good-natured  way,  for  I  really  felt  perfectly 
good-humored  about  it — remonstrated  with  her  for  let 
ting  everybody  rob  her,  for  getting  so  little  for  her 
money.  She  took  high  ground.  Such  things  were  be 
neath  her  attention.  If  I  had  wanted  a  wife  of  that 
dull,  pinch-penny  kind  I'd  certainly  not  have  married 
3  29 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

her,  a  talented,  educated  woman,  bent  on  improving  her 
mind  and  her  position  in  the  world.  And  that  seemed 
reasonable.  Still,  the  money  was  going,  the  bills  were 
piling  up,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

And — she  did  the  cooking.  I  think  I  have  already 
said  that  she  had  not  learned  to  cook.  How  she  and 
her  mother  expected  her  to  get  along  as  a  poor  clerk's 
wife  I  can't  imagine.  The  worst  of  it  was,  she  believed 
she  could  cook.  That  is  the  way  with  women.  They 
look  down  on  housekeeping,  on  the  practical  side  of  life, 
as  too  coarse  and  low  to  be  worthy  their  attention. 
They  say  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  easy,  is  like  the  toil 
of  a  day  laborer.  They  say  anybody  could  do  it.  And 
they  really  believe  so.  Men,  no  matter  how  high  their 
position,  weary  and  bore  themselves  every  day,  because 
they  must,  with  routine  tasks  beside  which  dishwashing 
has  charm  and  variety.  Yet  women  shirk  their  proper 
and  necessary  share  of  life's  burden,  pretending  that  it 
is  beneath  them. 

Edna,  typical  woman,  thought  she  could  cook  and 
keep  house  because  she,  so  superior,  could  certainly  do 
inferior  work  if  she  chose.  But  after  that  first  brief 
spurt  of  enthusiasm,  of  daily  conference  with  the  "  Lady 
Book's  Complete  Housekeeper's  Guide,"  the  flat  was 
badly  kept — was  really  horribly  kept — was  worse  than 
either  her  home  or  mine  before  we  had  been  living  there 
many  months.  It  took  on  much  the  same  odor.  It 
looked  worse,  as  tawdry  finery,  when  mussy  and  dirty, 
is  more  repulsive  than  a  plain  toilet  gone  back.  I  did 
not  especially  mind  that.  But  her  cooking —  I  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  anything  especially  good  in  the 

30 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

way  of  cooking.  Mother  was  the  old-fashioned  fryer, 
and  you  know  those  fryers  always  served  the  vege 
tables  soggy.  I  could  have  eaten  exceedingly  poor  stuff 
without  complaining  or  feeling  like  complaining.  But 
the  stuff  she  was  soon  flinging  angrily  upon  the  slovenly 
table  I  could  not  eat.  She  ate  it,  enough  of  it  to  keep 
alive,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  do  her  any  harm.  How 
many  women  have  you  known  who  were  judges  of  things 
to  eat  ?  Do  you  understand  how  women  continue  to  eat 
the  messes  they  put  into  their  pretty  mouths,  and  keep 
alive  ? 

I  could  not  eat  Edna's  cooking.  I  ate  bread,  cold 
meats  and  the  like  from  the  delicatessen  shop.  When 
the  meal  happened  to  be  of  her  own  preparing  I  dropped 
into  the  habit  of  slipping  away  after  a  pretense  at  eat 
ing,  to  get  breakfast  or  dinner  or  supper  in  a  restau 
rant — the  cheapest  kind  of  restaurant,  but  I  ate  there 
with  relish.  And  never  once  did  I  murmur  to  Edna.  I 
loved  her  too  well;  also,  I  am  by  nature  a  tolerant, 
even-tempered  person,  hating  strife,  avoiding  the  harsh 
word.  In  fact,  my  timidity  in  that  respect  has  been 
my  chief  weakness,  has  cost  me  dear  again  and  again. 
But- 
After  ten  months  of  married  life  Edna  fell  ill.  All 
you  married  men  will  prick  up  your  ears  at  that.  Why 
is  it  that  bread  winners  somehow  contrive  to  keep  on 
their  feet  most  of  the  time,  little  though  they  know  as 
to  caring  for  their  health,  reckless  though  they  are  in 
eating  and  drinking?  Why  is  it  that  married  women 
— unless  they  have  to  work — spend  so  much  time  in  sick 
bed  or  near  it?  They  say  we  in  America  have  more 

31 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

than  nine  times  as  many  doctors  proportionately  to 
population  as  any  other  country.  The  doctors  live  off 
of  our  women — our  idle,  overeating,  lazy  women  who  will 
not  work,  who  will  not  walk,  who  are  always  getting 
something  the  matter  with  them.  Of  course  the  doctors 
— parasites  upon  parasites — fake  up  all  kinds  of  lies, 
many  of  them  malicious  slanders  against  the  husbands, 
to  excuse  their  patients  and  to  keep  them  patients.  But 
what  is  the  truth  ? 

Edna,  who  read  all  the  time  she  was  not  plotting  to 
get  acquainted  with  our  neighbors — they  looked  down 
upon  us  and  wished  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  us — 
Edna  who  ate  quantities  of  candy  between  meals  and 
ate  at  meals  rich  things  she  bought  of  confectioners 
and  bakers — Edna  fell  ill  and  frightened  me  almost  out 
of  my  senses.  I  understand  it  now.  But  I  did  not 
understand  then.  I  believed,  as  do  all  ignorant  people 
— both  the  obviously  ignorant  and  the  ignorant  who 
pass  for  enlightened — I  believed  sickness  to  be  a  mys 
terious  accident,  like  earthquakes  and  lightning  strokes, 
a  hit-or-miss  blow  from  nowhere  in  particular.  So  I 
was  all  sympathy  and  terror. 

She  got  well.  She  looked  as  well  as  ever.  But  she 
said  she  was  not  strong.  "  And  Godfrey,  we  simply 
have  got  to  keep  a  girl.  I've  borne  up  bravely.  But 
I  can't  stand  it  any  longer.  You  see  for  yourself,  the 
rough  work  and  the  strain  of  housekeeping  are  too  much 
for  me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  The  bills,  including  the  doc 
tor's  and  drug  bills,  were  piling  up.  We  were  more 
than  a  thousand  dollars  in  debt.  But  I  said :  "  Very 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

well.  You  are  right."  We  men  do  not  realize  that  there 
are  two  distinct  and  equal  expressions  of  strength.  The 
strength  of  bulk,  that  is  often  deceptive  in  that  it  looks 
stronger  than  it  is ;  the  strength  of  fiber,  that  is  always 
deceptive  in  that  it  is  stronger  than  it  looks.  In  a  gen 
eral  way,  man  has  the  strength  of  bulk,  woman  the 
strength  of  fiber.  So  man  looks  on  woman's  appearance 
of  fragility  and  fancies  her  weak  and  himself  the 
stronger.  I  looked  at  Edna,  and  said :  "  Very  well.  We 
must  have  a  girl  to  help." 

I  shan't  linger  upon  this  part  of  my  story.  I  am 
tempted  to  linger,  but,  after  all,  it  is  the  commonplace  of 
American  life,  familiar  to  all,  though  understood  appar 
ently  by  only  a  few.  Why  do  more  than  ninety  per  cent 
of  our  small  business  men  fail?  Why  are  the  savings 
banks  accounts  of  our  working  classes  a  mere  fraction  of 
those  of  the  working  classes  of  other  countries  ?  And  so 
on,  and  so  on.  But  I  see  your  impatience,  gentle  reader, 
with  these  matters  so  "  inartistic."  We  sank  deeper  and 
deeper  in  debt.  Edna's  health  did  not  improve.  The 
girl  we  hired  had  lived  with  better  class  people ;  she  de 
spised  us,  shirked  her  work,  and  Edna  did  not  know 
how  to  manage  her.  If  the  head  of  the  household  is 
incompetent  and  indifferent,  a  servant  only  aggravates 
the  mess,  and  the  more  servants  the  greater  the  mess. 
All  Edna's  interest  was  for  her  music,  her  novels,  her 
social  advancement,  and  her  dreams  of  being  a  grand 
lady.  These  dreams  had  returned  with  increased  power ; 
they  took  complete  possession  of  her.  They  soured  her 
disposition,  made  her  irritable,  usually  blue  or  cross, 
only  at  long  intervals  loving  and  sweet.  No,  perhaps 

33 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

the  dreams  were  not  responsible.  Perhaps — probably 
— the  real  cause  was  the  upset  state  of  her  health 
through  the  absurd  idle  life  she  led.  Idle  and  lonely. 
For  she  would  not  go  with  whom  she  could,  she  could 
not  go  with  whom  she  would. 

"  I'm  sick  of  sitting  alone,"  said  she.  "  No  wonder 
I  can't  get  well." 

"  Let's  go  back  near  the  old  folks,"  suggested  I. 
"  Our  friends  won't  come  to  see  us  in  this  part  of  the 
town.  They  feel  uncomfortable." 

"  I  should  think  they  would!  "  cried  she.  "  And  if 
they  came  I'd  see  to  it  that  they  were  so  uncomfortable 
that  they  would  never  come  again." 

I  worked  hard.  My  salary  went  up  to  fifteen  hun 
dred,  to  two  thousand,  to  twenty-five  hundred.  "  Now," 
said  Edna,  "  perhaps  you'll  get  hands  that  won't  look 
like  a  laboring  man's.  How  can  I  hope  to  make  nice 
friends  when  I've  a  husband  with  broken  finger  nails  ?  " 

Our  expenses  continued  to  outrun  my  salary,  but  I 
was  not  especially  worried,  for  I  began  to  realize  that 
I  had  the  money-making  talent.  Three  children  were 
born ;  only  the  first — Margot — lived.  Looking  back 
upon  those  six  years  of  our  married  life,  I  see  after  the 
first  year  only  a  confused  repellent  mess  of  illness, 
nurses,  death,  doctors,  quarrels  with  servants,  untidy 
rooms  and  clothes,  slovenly,  peevish  wife,  with  myself 
watching  it  all  in  a  dazed,  helpless  way,  thinking  it  must 
be  the  normal,  natural  order  of  domestic  life — which, 
indeed,  it  is  in  America — and  wondering  where  and  how 
it  was  to  end. 

I  recall  going  home  one  afternoon  late,  to  find  Edna 
34 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

yawning  listlessly  over  some  book  in  a  magazine  culture 
series.  Her  hair  hung  every  which  way,  her  wrapper 
was  torn  and  stained.  Her  skin  had  the  musty  look 
that  suggests  unpleasant  conditions  both  without  and 
within.  Margot,  dirty,  pimply  from  too  much  candy, 
sat  on  the  floor  squalling. 

"  Take  the  child  away,"  cried  Edna,  at  sight  of  me.. 
"  I  thought  you'd  never  come.  A  little  more  of  this  and 
I'll  kill  myself.  What  is  there  to  live  for,  anyhow?  " 

Silent  and  depressed,  I  took  Margot  for  a  walk. 
And  as  I  wandered  along  sadly  I  was  full  of  pity  for 
Edna,  and  felt  that  somehow  the  blame  was  wholly  mine 
for  the  wretched  plight  of  our  home  life. 

When  I  was  twenty-eight  and  Edna  twenty-three,  I 
had  a  series  of  rapid  promotions  which  landed  me  in 
New  York  in  the  position  of  assistant  traffic  superin 
tendent.  My  salary  was  eight  thousand  a  year. 

It  so  happened — coincidence  and  nothing  else — that 
those  eighteen  months  of  quick  advance  for  me  also 
marked  a  notable  change  in  Edna. 

There  are  some  people — many  people — so  obsessed 
of  the  know-it-all  vanity  that  they  can  learn  nothing. 
Nor  are  all  these  people  preachers,  doctors,  and  teach 
ers,  gentle  reader.  Then  there  is  another  species  who 
pretend  to  know  all,  who  are  chary  of  admitting  to 
learning  or  needing  to  learn  anything,  however  small, 
yet  who  behind  their  pretense  toil  at  improving  them 
selves  as  a  hungry  mouse  gnaws  at  the  wall  of  the 
cheese  box.  Of  this  species  was  Edna.  As  she  was  fond 
of  being  mysterious  about  her  thoughts  and  intentions, 

35 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

^••••^^•^•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••CTBBMi^^ 

she  never  told  me  what  set  her  going  again  after  that 
long  lethargy.  Perhaps  it  was  some  woman  whom  she 
had  a  sudden  opportunity  thoroughly  to  study,  some 
woman  who  knew  and  lived  the  ideas  Edna  had  groped 
for  in  vain.  Perhaps  it  was  a  novel  she  read  or  articles 
in  her  magazines.  It  doesn't  matter.  I  never  asked 
her ;  I  had  learned  that  wild  horses  would  not  drag  from 
her  a  confession  of  where  she  had  got  an  idea,  because 
such  a  confession  would  to  her  notion  detract  from  her 
own  glory.  However,  the  essential  fact  is  that  she  sud 
denly  roused  and  set  to  work  as  she  had  never  worked 
before — went  at  it  like  a  prospector  who,  after  toiling 
now  hard  and  now  discouragedly  for  years,  strikes  by 
accident  a  rich  vein  of  gold.  Edna  showed  in  every 
move  that  she  not  hoped,  not  believed,  but  knew  she  was 
at  last  on  the  right  track.  She  began  to  take  care, 
scrupulous  care,  of  her  person — the  minute  intelligent 
care  she  has  ever  since  been  expanding  and  improving 
upon,  has  never  since  relaxed,  and  never  will  relax.  Also 
she  began  to  plan  and  to  move  definitely  in  the  matter 
of  taking  care  of  Margot — to  look  after  her  speech,  her 
manners,  her  food,  her  person,  especially,  perhaps,  the 
last.  Margot's  teeth,  Margot's  hair,  Margot's  walk, 
Margot's  feet  and  hands  and  skin,  the  shape  of  her  nose, 
the  set  of  her  ears — all  these  things  she  talked  about  and 
fussed  with  as  agitatedly  as  about  her  own  self. 

Edna  became  a  crank  on  the  subject  of  food — what 
is  called  a  crank  by  the  unthinking,  of  whom,  by  the 
way,  I  was  to  my  lasting  regret  one  until  a  few  years 
ago.  For  a  year  or  two  her  moves  in  this  important 
direction  were  blundering,  intermittent,  and  not  always 

36 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

successful — small  wonder  when  there  is  really  no  reliable 
information  to  be  had,  the  scientists  being  uncertain  and 
the  doctors  grossly  ignorant.  But  gradually  she 
evolved  and  lived  upon  a  "  beauty  diet."  Margot,  of 
course,  had  to  do  the  same.  She  took  exercises  morning 
and  night,  took  long  and  regular  walks  for  the  figure 
and  skin  and  to  put  clearness  and  brightness  into  the 
eyes.  I  believe  she  and  Margot,  with  occasional  lapses, 
keep  up  their  regimen  to  this  day. 

The  house  was  as  slattern  as  ever.  The  diet  and 
comfort  and  health  of  the  family  bread-winner  were  no 
more  the  subject  of  thought  and  care  than — well,  than 
the  next  husband's  to  his  wife.  She  gave  some  attention 
— intelligent  and  valuable  attention,  I  cheerfully  con 
cede — to  improving  my  speech,  manners,  and  dress. 
But  beyond  that  the  revolution  affected  only  her  and 
her  daughter.  Them  it  affected  amazingly.  In  three 
or  four  months  the  change  in  their  appearance  was 
literally  beyond  belief.  Edna's  beauty  and  style  came 
back — no,  burst  forth  in  an  entirely  new  kind  of  radi 
ance  and  fascination.  As  for  little  Margot,  she  trans 
formed  from  homeliness,  from  the  scrawny  pasty  look 
of  bad  health,  from  bad  temper,  into  as  neat  and  sweet 
and  pretty  a  little  lady  as  could  be  found  anywhere. 

You,  gentle  reader,  who  are  ever  ready  to  slop  over 
with  some  kind  of  sentimentality  because  in  your  shal- 
lowness  you  regard  sentimentality — not  sentiment,  for 
of  that  you  know  nothing,  but  sentimentality — as  the 
most  important  thing  in  the  world,  just  as  a  child  re 
gards  sickeningly  rich  cake  as  the  finest  food  in  the 
world — you,  gentle  reader,  have  already  made  up  your 

37 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

mind  why  Edna  thus  suddenly  awakened,  or,  rather,  re 
awakened.  "  Aha,"  you  are  saying.  "  Served  him  good 
and  right.  She  found  some  one  who  appreciated  her." 
That  guess  of  yours  shows  how  little  you  know  about 
Edna  or  the  Edna  kind  of  human  being.  The  people 
who  do  things  in  this  world,  except  in  our  foolish  Ameri 
can  novels,  do  because  they  must.  They  may  do  better 
or  worse  under  the  influence  of  love,  which  is  full  as 
often  a  drag  as  a  spur.  But  they  do  not  do  because 
of  love.  I  shall  not  argue  this.  I  shrink  from  gratui 
tously  inviting  an  additional  vial  of  wrath  from  the 
ladies,  who  resent  being  told  how  worthless  they  in  their 
indolence  and  self-complacence  permit  themselves  to  be 
and  how  small  a  positive  part  they  now  play  in  the 
world  drama.  I  should  have  said  nothing  at  all  about 
the  matter,  were  it  not  that  I  wish  to  be  strictly  just 
to  Edna,  and  she,  being  wholly  the  ambitious  woman, 
has  always  had  and  still  has  a  deep  horror  of  scandal, 
intrigue,  irregularity,  and  unconventionality  of  every 
sort. 

It  was  necessary  that  we  move  to  a  place  more  con 
venient  to  my  business  headquarters  in  New  York  City. 
A  few  weeks  after  I  got  the  eight  thousand  a  year, 
Edna,  and  little  Margot  and  I  went  to  Brooklyn  to 
live — took  a  really  charming  house  in  Bedford  Avenue, 
with  large  grounds  around  it.  And  once  more  we  were 
happy.  It  seemed  to  me  we  had  started  afresh. 

And  we  had. 


II 


WHY  did  we  go  to  Brooklyn? 

By  the  time  Edna  and  I  had  been  married  six  years 
I  learned  many  things  about  her  inmost  self.  I  was 
not  at  all  analytic  or  critical  as  to  matters  at  home.  I 
used  my  intelligence  in  my  own  business ;  I  assumed  that 
my  wife  had  intelligence  and  that  she  used  it  in  her 
business — her  part  of  our  joint  business.  I  believed 
the  reason  her  part  of  it  went  badly  was  solely  the 
natural  conditions  of  life  beyond  her  control.  A  rail 
road,  a  factory  could  be  run  smoothly ;  a  family  and  a 
household  were  different  matters.  And  I  admired  my 
wife  as  much  as  I  loved  her,  and  regarded  her  as  a 
wonderful  woman,  which,  indeed,  in  certain  respects  she 
was. 

But  I  had  discovered  in  her  several  weaknesses. 
Some  of  these  I  knew;  others  I  did  not  permit  my 
self  to  know  that  I  knew.  For  example,  I  was  per 
fectly  aware  that  she  was  not  so  truthful  as  one  might 
be.  But  I  did  not  let  myself  admit  that  she  was  not 
always  unconscious  of  her  own  deviations  from  the 
truth.  I  had  gained  enough  experience  of  life  to  learn 
that  lying  is  practically  a  universal  weakness.  So  I 
did  not  especially  mind  it  in  her,  often  found  it  amus 
ing.  I  had  not  then  waked  up  to  the  fact  that,  as  a 
rule,  women  systematically  lie  to  their  husbands  about 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

big  things  and  little,  and  that  those  women  who  pro 
fess  to  be  too  proud  to  lie,  do  their  lying  by  indirec 
tions,  such  as  omissions,  half  truths,  and  misleading 
silences.  I  am  not  criticising.  Self-respect,  real  per 
sonal  pride,  I  have  discovered  in  spite  of  the  reading 
matter  of  all  kinds  about  the  past,  is  a  modern  develop 
ment,  is  still  in  embryo ;  and  those  of  us  who  profess  to 
be  the  proudest  are  either  the  most  ignorant  of  our 
selves  or  the  most  hypocritical. 

But  back  to  my  acquaintance  with  my  wife's  char 
acter.  When  I  told  her  we  should  have  to  live  nearer 
rny  work,  my  new  work,  than  Passaic,  she  promptly  said : 

"  Let's  go  to  Brooklyn." 

"  Why  not  to  New  York?  "  said  I.  "  At  least  until 
I  get  thoroughly  trained,  I  want  to  be  close  to  the 
office." 

"  But  there's  Margot,"  said  she.  "  Margot  must 
have  a  place  to  play  in.  And  we  couldn't  afford  such  a 
place  in  New  York.  I  can't  let  her  run  about  the  streets 
or  go  to  public  schools.  She'd  pick  up  all  sorts  of  low, 
coarse  associates  and  habits." 

"  Then  let's  go  to  some  town  opposite — across  the 
Hudson.  If  we  can't  live  on  Manhattan  Island,  and  I 
think  you're  right  about  Margot,  why,  let's  live  where 
living  is  cheap.  We  ought  to  be  saving  some  money." 

"  I  hate  these  Jersey  towns,"  said  Edna  petulantly. 
"  I  don't  think  Margot  would  get  the  right  sort  of 
social  influences  in  them." 

As  soon  as  she  said  "  social  influences  "  I  should 
have  understood  the  whole  business.  The  only  person 
higher  up  on  the  social  ladder  with  whom  Edna  had  been 

40 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

able  to  scrape  intimate  acquaintance  in  Passaic  was  a 
dowdy,  tawdry  chatterbox  of  a  woman — I  forget  her 
name — who  talked  incessantly  of  the  fashionable  people 
she  knew  in  Brooklyn — how  she  had  gone  there  a  stran 
ger,  had  joined  St.  Mary's  Episcopal  Church,  and  had 
at  once  become  a  social  favorite,  invited  to  "  the  very 
best  houses,  my  dear;  such  lovely  homes,"  and  associ 
ated  with  "  the  most  charming  cultured  people,"  and 
so  on  and  on — you  know  the  rest  of  the  humbug. 

Now,  one  of  the  discoveries  about  my  wife  which  I 
but  half  understood  and  made  light  of,  had  been  that 
she  was  mad,  literally  mad,  on  the  subject  of  social 
climbing.  That  means  she  was  possessed  of  the  disease 
imported  into  this  country  from  England,  where  it  has 
raged  for  upward  of  half  a  century — the  disease  of  being 
bent  upon  associating  by  hook  or  by  crook  with  people 
whose  strongest  desire  seems  to  be  not  to  associate  with 
you.  This  plague  does  not  spare  the  male  population — 
by  no  means.  But  it  rages  in  and  ravages  the  female 
population  almost  to  a  woman.  Our  women  take  inci 
dental  interest  or  no  interest  in  their  homes,  in  their 
husbands,  in  their  children.  Their  hearts  are  centered 
upon  social  position,  and,  of  course,  the  money-squan 
dering  necessary  to  attaining  or  to  keeping  it.  The 
women  who  are  "  in  "  spend  all  their  time,  whatever 
they  may  seem  to  be  about,  in  spitting  upon  and  kick 
ing  the  faces  of  the  women  who  are  trying  to  get  "  in." 
The  women  who  are  trying  to  get  "in"  spend  their 
whole  time  in  smiling  and  cringing  and  imploring  and 
plotting  and,  when  it  seems  expedient,  threatening  and 
compelling.  Probe  to  the  bottom — if  you  have  acute- 

41 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ness  enough,  which  you  probably  haven't — probe  to  the 
bottom  any  of  the  present-day  activities  of  the  Ameri 
can  woman,  I  care  not  what  it  may  be,  and  you  will 
discover  the  bacillus  of  social  position  biting  merrily 
away  at  her.  If  she  goes  to  church  or  to  a  lecture  or 
a  concert — if  she  goes  calling  or  stays  at  home — if  she 
joins  a  suffrage  movement  or  a  tenement  reform  prop 
aganda,  or  refuses  to  join — if  she  dresses  noisily  or 
plainly — if  she  shuns  society  or  seeks  it,  if  she  keeps 
house  or  leaves  housekeeping  to  servants,  roaches,  and 
mice — if  she  cares  for  or  neglects  her  children — if  she 
pets  her  husband  or  displaces  him  with  another — no 
matter  what  she  does,  it  is  at  the  behest  of  the  poison 
flowing  through  brain  and  vein  from  the  social-position 
bacillus.  She  thinks  by  doing  whatever  she  does  she 
will  somehow  make  her  position  more  brilliant  or  less 
insecure,  or,  having  no  position  at  all,  will  gain  one. 

And  the  men?  They  pay  the  bills.  Sometimes  re 
luctantly,  again  eagerly;  sometimes  ignorantly,  again 
with  full  knowledge.  The  men — they  pay  the  bills. 

Now  you  know  better  far  than  I  knew  at  the  time 
why  our  happy  little  family  went  to  Brooklyn,  took 
the  house  in  Bedford  Avenue  which  we  could  ill  afford 
if  we  were  to  save  any  money,  and  joined  St.  Mary's. 

A  couple  of  years  after  we  were  married  my  wife 
stopped  me  when  I  was  telling  her  what  had  happened 
at  the  office  that  day,  as  was  my  habit.  "  You  ought 
to  leave  all  those  things  outside  when  you  come  home," 
said  she. 

She  had  read  this  in  a  book  somewhere,  I  guess.  It 
was  a  new  idea  to  me.  "  Why  should  I  ?  "  said  I. 

42 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

66  Home  is  a  place  for  happiness,  with  all  the  sor- 
didness  shut  out,"  explained  she.  "  Those  sordid  things 
ought  not  to  touch  our  life  together." 

This  sounded  all  right.  "  It  seemed  to  me,"  stam 
mered  I,  apologetically,  "  that  my  career,  the  way  I 
was  getting  on,  that  our  bread  and  butter —  Well,  I 
thought  we  ought  to  kind  of  talk  it  over  together." 

"  Oh,  I  do  sympathize  with  you,"  said,  or  rather 
quoted,  she.  "  But  my  place  is  to  soothe  and  smooth 
away  the  cares  of  business.  You  ought  to  try  not  to 
think  of  them  at  home." 

"  But  what  would  I  think  about  ?  "  cried  I,  much 
perplexed.  "  Why,  my  business  is  all  I've  got.  It's  the 
most  important  thing  in  the  world  to  us.  It  means  our 
living.  At  least  that's  the  way  the  thing  looks  to  me." 

"  You  ought  to  think  at  home  about  the  higher  side 
of  life— the  intellectual  side." 

"  But  my  business  is  my  intellectual  side,"  I  said. 
"  And  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why  thinking  about 
things  that  don't  advance  us  and  don't  pay  the  bills  is 
better  than  thinking  about  things  that  do."  It  seemed 
to  me  that  this  looking  on  my  business  as  something 
to  be  left  on  the  mud-scraper  at  the  entrance  indicated 
a  false  idea  of  it  got  somewhere.  So  I  added  somewhat 
warmly :  "  There's  nothing  low  or  bad  about  my  busi 
ness."  And  that  was  the  truth  at  the  time. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  replied  she  with 
the  gentle  patience  of  her  superior  refinement  and  edu 
cation.  "  And  I  don't  want  to  know.  Those  things 
don't  interest  me.  And  I  think,  Godfrey " — very 
sweetly,  with  her  cheek  against  mine — "  the  reason  hus- 

43 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

bands  and  wives  often  grow  apart  is  that  the  husband 
gives  his  whole  mind  to  his  business  and  doesn't  develop 
the  higher  side  of  his  nature — the  side  that  appeals  to 
a  woman  and  satisfies  her." 

This  touched  my  sense  of  humor  mildly.  "  My 
father  gives  his  mind  to  one  of  those  high  sides,"  said 
I,  "  and  we  nearly  starved  to  death." 

"  Your  father !  "  exclaimed  she  in  derisive  disgust. 

"  My  father,"  said  I  cheerfully,  "  he  does  nothing 
but  read,  talk,  and  think  politics." 

"  Politics !  That  isn't  on  the  higher  side.  Women 
don't  care  anything  about  that." 

"  Well,  what  do  they  care  about  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  About  music  and  literature — and  those  artistic 
things." 

"  Oh,  those  things  are  all  right,"  said  I.  "  But  I 
don't  see  that  it  takes  any  more  brains  or  any  better 
brains  to  paint  a  picture  or  sing  a  song  or  write  a 
novel  than  it  does  to  run  a  railroad — or  to  plan  one. 
If  you'd  try  to  understand  business,  dear,"  I  urged, 
"  you  might  find  it  as  interesting  and  as  intellectual  as 
anything  that  doesn't  help  us  make  a  living.  Anyhow, 
I've  simply  got  to  give  my  brains  to  my  work.  You 
go  ahead  and  attend  to  the  higher  side  for  the  family. 
I'll  stick  to  the  job  that  butters  the  bread  and  keeps  the 
rain  off." 

She  was  patient  with  me,  but  I  saw  she  didn't  ap 
prove.  However,  as  I  knew  she'd  approve  still  less  if 
I  failed  to  provide  for  her  and  the  two  young  ones — 
there  were  two  at  that  time — I  let  the  matter  drop  and 
held  to  the  common-sense  course.  I  hadn't  the  faintest 

44 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

notion  of  the  seriousness  of  that  little  talk  of  ours. 
And  it  was  well  I  hadn't,  for  to  have  made  her  realize 
her  folly  I'd  have  had  to  start  in  and  educate  her — un- 
educate  her  and  then  reeducate  her.  I  don't  blame  the 
women.  I  feel  sorry  for  them.  When  I  hear  them  talk 
about  the  lack  of  sympathy  between  themselves  and 
American  men,  about  the  low  ideals  and  the  sordid  talk 
the  men  indulge  in,  how  dull  it  is,  how  different  from  the 
inspiring,  cultured  talk  a  woman  hears  among  the  aris 
tocrats  abroad,  said  aristocrats  being  supported  in 
helpless  idleness  throughout  their  useless  lives,  often  by 
hard-earned  American  dollars — when  I  hear  this  piti 
ful  balderdash  from  fair  lips,  I  grow  sad.  The  Ameri 
can  woman  fancies  she  is  growing  away  from  the  Ameri 
can  man.  The  truth  is  that  while  she  is  sitting  still, 
playing  with  a  lapful  of  the  artificial  flowers  of  fake 
culture,  like  a  poor  doodle-wit,  the  American  man  is 
growing  away  from  her.  She  knows  nothing  of  value ; 
she  can  do  nothing  of  value.  She  has  nothing  to  offer 
the  American  man  but  her  physical  charms,  for  he  has 
no  time  or  taste  for  playing  with  artificial  flowers 
when  the  world's  important  work  is  to  be  done.  So 
the  poor  creature  grows  more  isolated,  more  neglected, 
less  respected,  and  less  sought,  except  in  a  physical 
way.  And  all  the  while  she  hugs  to  her  bosom  the 
delusion  that  she  is  the  great  soul  high  sorrowful.  The 
world  moves ;  many  are  the  penalties  for  the  nation  or 
the  race  or  the  sex  that  does  not  move  with  it,  or  does 
not  move  quickly  enough.  I  feel  sorry  for  the  American 
woman — unless  she  has  a  father  who  will  leave  her  rich 
or  a  husband  who  will  give  her  riches. 
4  45 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  feel  some  of  my  readers  saying  that  I  must  have 
been  most  unfortunate  in  the  women  I  have  known. 
Perhaps.  But  may  it  not  be  that  those  commiserating 
readers  have  been  rarely  fortunate  in  their  feminine 
acquaintances? — or  in  lack  of  insight? 

Now  you  probably  not  only  know  why  we  went  to 
Brooklyn,  but  also  what  we  did  after  we  got  there.  I 
have  not  forgotten  my  promise  to  gentle  reader.  I 
shall  not  linger  many  moments  in  Brooklyn.  True,  it 
is  superior  to  Passaic,  at  least  to  the  part  of  Passaic 
in  which  I  constrained  gentle  reader  to  tarry  a  minute 
or  two.  But  it  is  still  far  from  the  promised  heights. 

My  wife  owes  a  vast  deal  to  Brooklyn.  As  she 
haughtily  ignores  the  debt,  would  deny  it  if  publicly 
charged,  I  shall  pay  it  for  her.  Brooklyn  was  her  fin 
ishing  school.  It  made  her  what  she  is. 

In  the  last  year  or  so  we  spent  in  Passaic  there  had 
been,  as  I  have  hinted,  a  marked  outward  change  in  all 
three  of  us.  The  least,  or  rather  the  least  abrupt, 
change  had  been  in  me.  Associated  in  business  with  a 
more  prosperous  and  better-dressed  and  better-educated 
class  of  men,  I  had  gradually  picked  up  the  sort  of 
knowledge  a  man  needs  to  fit  himself  for  the  inevitably 
changing  social  conditions  accompanying  a  steady  ad 
vance  in  material  prosperity.  I  was  as  quick  to  learn 
one  kind  of  useful  thing  as  another.  And  just  as  I 
learned  how  to  fill  larger  and  larger  positions  and  how 
to  make  money  out  of  the  chances  that  come  to  a  man 
situated  where  money  is  to  be  made,  so  I  learned  how  to 
dress  like  a  man  of  the  better  class,  how  to  speak  a  less 
slangy  and  a  less  ungrammatical  English,  how  to  use 


THE    HUSBAND'S   STORY 

my  mind  in  thinking  and  in  discussing  a  thousand  sub 
jects  not  directly  related  to  my  business. 

If  my  wife  had  been  interested  in  any  of  the  impor 
tant  things  of  the  world,  I  could  have  been  of  the 
greatest  assistance  to  her  and  she  to  me.  And  we 
should  have  grown  ever  closer  together  in  sympathetic 
companionship.  But  although  she  had  a  good  mind — 
a  superior  mind — she  cared  about  nothing  but  the 
things  that  interest  foolish  women  and  still  more  fool 
ish  men — for  a  man  who  cares  about  splurge  and  show 
and  social  position  and  such  nonsense  is  less  excusable, 
is  more  foolish,  than  a  woman  of  the  same  sort. 
Women  have  the  excuse  of  lack  of  serious  occupation, 
but  what  excuse  has  a  man?  Still,  she  was  not  idle — 
not  for  a  minute.  She  was,  on  the  contrary,  in  her 
way  as  busy  as  I.  From  time  to  time  she  would  say 
to  me  enigmatically :  "  You  don't  appreciate  it,  but  I 
am  preparing  myself  to  help  you  fill  the  station  your 
business  ability  will  win  us  a  chance  at."  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  doing  that  alone.  For  what  was  neces 
sary  to  fill  that  station  but  higher  and  higher  skill  as 
a  man  of  affairs? 

When  we  had  made  our  entry  in  Brooklyn  and  had 
seated  ourselves  in  the  state  in  Bedford  Avenue  which 
she  had  decided  for,  she  showed  that  she  felt  immensely 
proud  of  herself.  We  took  the  house  furnished 
throughout — nicely  furnished  in  a  substantial  way, 
for  it  had  been  the  home  of  one  of  the  old  Brooklyn 
mercantile  families. 

"  It's  good  enough  to  start  with,"  said  she,  cast 
ing  a  critical  glance  round  the  sober,  homelike  dining 

47 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

room.  "  I  shan't  make  any  changes  till  I  look  about 
me.7' 

"  We  couldn't  be  better  off,"  said  I.  "  Everything 
is  perfectly  comfortable."  And  in  fact  neither  she  nor 
I  had  ever  before  known  what  comfort  was.  Looking 
at  that  house — merely  looking  at  it  and  puzzling  out 
the  uses  of  the  various  things  to  us  theretofore  unknown 
— was  about  as  important  in  the  way  of  education  as 
learning  to  read  is  to  a  child. 

"  It's  good  enough  for  Brooklyn,"  said  she.  She 
regarded  me  with  her  patient,  tender  expression  of  the 
superior  intelligence.  "  You  haven't  much  imagination 
or  ambition,  Godfrey,"  she  went  on.  "  But  fortunately 
I  have.  And  do  be  careful  not  to  betray  us  before  the 
servants  Fm  engaging." 

The  show  part  of  the  house  continued  to  look  about 
as  it  had  when  we  took  possession.  But  the  living  part 
went  to  pieces  rapidly.  We  had  many  servants.  We 
spent  much  money — so  much  that,  if  I  had  not  been 
speculating  in  various  ways,  we  should  have  soon  gone 
under.  But  the  results  were  miserably  poor.  My  wife 
left  everything  to  her  servants  and  devoted  herself  to 
her  social  career.  The  ex-Brooklyn  society  woman  at 
Passaic  had  not  deceived  her.  No  sooner  had  she  j  oined 
St.  Mary's  than  she  began  to  have  friends — friends  of 
a  far  higher  social  rank  than  she  had  ever  even  seen 
at  close  range  before.  They  were  elegant  people  in 
deed — the  wives  of  the  heads  of  departments  in  big 
stores,  the  families  of  bank  officers  and  lawyers  and 
doctors.  There  were  even  a  few  rather  rich  people. 
My  wife  was  in  ecstasy  for  a  year  or  two.  And  she 

48 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

improved  rapidly  in  looks,  in  dress,  in  manners,  in 
speech,  in  all  ways  except  in  disposition  and  character. 

Except  in  disposition  and  character.  As  we  grow 
older  and  rise  in  the  world,  there  is  always  a  deteriora 
tion  both  in  disposition  and  in  character.  A  man's  dis 
position  grows  sharper  through  dealing  with,  and  hav 
ing  to  deal  sharply  with,  incompetence.  The  character 
tends  to  harden  as  he  is  forced  to  make  the  unpleasant 
and  often  not  too  scrupulous  moves  necessary  to  get 
ting  himself  forward  toward  success.  Also,  the  way 
everyone  tries  to  use  a  successful  man  makes  him  more 
and  more  acute  in  penetrating  to  the  real  motives  of 
his  fellow  beings,  more  and  more  inclined  to  take  up 
men  for  what  he  can  get  out  of  them  and  drop  them 
when  he  has  squeezed  out  all  the  advantage — in  brief, 
to  treat  them  precisely  as  they  treat  him.  But  the 
whole  object  in  having  a  home,  a  wife,  a  family,  is  de 
feated  if  the  man  has  not  there  a  something  that  checks 
the  tendencies  to  cynicism  and  coldness  which  active 
life  not  merely  encourages  but  even  compels. 

There  was  no  occasion  for  Edna's  becoming  vixen 
ish  and  hard.  It  was  altogether  due  to  the  idiotic  and 
worthless  social  climbing.  She  had  a  swarm  of  friends, 
yet  not  a  single  friend.  She  cultivated  people  socially, 
and  they  cultivated  her,  not  for  the  natural  and  kindly 
and  elevating  reasons,  but  altogether  for  the  detest 
able  purposes  of  that  ghastly  craze  for  social  position. 
Edna  was  bitter  against  me  for  a  long  time,  never  again 
became  fully  reconciled,  because  I  soon  flatly  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  it. 

"  They  will  think  there's  something  wrong  about 
49 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

you,  and  about  me,  if  you  don't  come  with  me,"  pleaded 
she. 

"  I  need  my  strength  for  my  business,"  said  I. 
"  And  what  do  I  care  whether  they  think  well  or  ill  of 
me?  They  don't  give  us  any  money." 

"  You  are  so  sordid !  "  cried  she.  "  Sometimes  I'm 
almost  tempted  to  give  up,  and  not  try  to  be  somebody 
and  to  make  somebodies  of  Margot  and  you." 

66 1  wish  you  would,"  said  I.  "  Why  shouldn't  we 
live  quietly  and  mind  our  own  business  and  be  happy  ?  " 

"  How  fortunate  it  is  for  Margot  that  she  has  a 
mother  with  ambition  and  pride !  " 

"  Well — no  matter.  But  please  do  get  another 
cook.  This  one  is,  if  anything,  worse  than  the  last — • 
except  when  we  have  company." 

We  were  forever  changing  cooks.  The  food  that 
came  on  our  table  was  something  atrocious.  I  heard 
the  same  complaint  from  all  my  married  associates  at 
the  office,  even  from  the  higher  officials  who  were  rich 
men  and  lived  in  great  state.  They,  too,  had  American 
wives.  In  the  markets  and  shops  I  saw  as  I  passed 
along  all  sorts  of  attractive  things  to  eat,  and  of  real 
quality.  I  wondered  why  we  never  had  those  things 
on  our  table.  Heaven  knows  we  spent  money  enough. 
The  time  came  when  I  got  a  clew  to  the  mystery. 

One  day  Edna  said :  "  I've  been  doing  my  house 
keeping  altogether  by  telephone.  I  think  I'll  stop  it, 
except  on  rainy  days  and  when  I  don't  feel  well." 

By  telephone !  I  laughed  to  myself.  No  wonder  we 
had  poor  stuff  and  paid  the  highest  prices  for  it.  I 
thought  a  while,  then  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  began  to 

50 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ask  questions,  very  cautiously,  for  Edna  was  extremely 
touchy,  as  we  all  are  in  matters  where  in  our  hearts 
we  know  we  are  in  the  wrong.  "  Do  you  remember 
what  kind  of  range  we  have  in  our  kitchen  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  ?  "  exclaimed  she  disgustedly.  "  Certainly  not. 
I  haven't  been  down  to  the  kitchen  since  we  first  moved 
into  this  house.  I've  something  better  to  do  than  to 
meddle  with  the  servants." 

"  Naturally,"  said  I  soothingly.  And  I  didn't  let 
her  see  how  her  confession  amused  me.  What  if  a  man 
tried  to  run  his  business  in  that  fashion !  And  ordering 
by  telephone !  Why,  it  was  an  invitation  to  the  trades 
people  to  swindle  us  in  every  way.  But  I  said  nothing. 

As  usually  either  it  was  bad  weather  or  Edna  was 
not  feeling  well,  or  was  in  a  rush  to  keep  some  social 
engagement,  the  ordering  for  the  house  continued  to 
be  done  by  telephone,  when  it  was  not  left  entirely  to  the 
discretion  of  the  servants.  One  morning  it  so  happened 
that  she  and  I  left  the  house  at  the  same  time.  Said 
she: 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  do  the  marketing.  It's  a  terrible 
nuisance,  and  I  know  so  little  about  those  things.  But 
it's  coming  to  be  regarded  as  fashionable  for  a  woman 
to  do  her  own  marketing.  Some  of  the  best  families — 
people  with  their  own  carriages  and  servants  in  livery — 
some  of  the  swellest  ladies  in  Brooklyn  do  it  now.  It's 
a  fad  from  across  the  river." 

"  You  must  be  careful  not  to  overtax  yourself," 
said  I. 

And  I  said  it  quite  seriously,  for  in  those  days  of  my 
innocence  I  was  worried  about  her,  thought  her  a  poor 

51 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

overworked  angel,  was  glad  I  had  the  money  to  relieve 
her  from  the  worst  tasks  and  to  leave  her  free  to  amuse 
herself  and  to  take  care  of  her  health!  I  had  not  yet 
started  in  the  direction  of  ridding  myself  of  the  mas 
culine  delusion  that  woman  is  a  delicate  creature  by 
nature  if  she  happens  to  be  a  lady — and  of  course  I 
knew  my  Edna  was  a  lady  through  and  through.  It  was 
many  a  year  before  I  learned  the  truth — why  ladies  are 
always  ailing  and  why  they  can  do  nothing  but  wear 
fine  clothes  and  sit  in  parlors  or  in  carriages  when  they 
are  not  sitting  at  indigestible  food,  and  amuse  them 
selves  and  pity  themselves  for  being  condemned  to  live 
with  coarse,  uninteresting  American  men. 

Yes,  I  was  sincere  in  urging  her  to  take  care  how 
she  adopted  so  laborious  a  fad  as  doing  her  own  mar 
keting.  She  went  on : 

"  If  I  had  a  carriage  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad." 

She  said  this  sweetly  enough  and  with  no  suggestion 
of  reproach.  Just  the  sigh  of  a  lady's  soul  at  the  hard 
ness  of  life's  conditions.  But  I,  loving  her,  felt  as  if 
I  were  somehow  to  blame.  "  You  shall  have  a  carriage 
before  many  years,"  said  I.  "  That's  one  of  the  things 
I've  been  working  for." 

She  gave  me  a  look  that  made  me  feel  proud  I  had 
her  to  live  for.  "  I  hope  I'll  be  here  to  enjoy  it,"  sighed 
she. 

I  walked  sad  and  silent  by  her  side,  profoundly  im 
pressed  and  depressed  by  that  hint  as  to  her  feeble 
health.  I  know  now  it  was  sheer  pretense  with  her,  the 
more  easily  to  manage  me  and  to  cover  her  shortcom 
ings.  I  ought  to  have  realized  it  then.  But  what  man 

52 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

does?  She  certainly  did  not  look  ill,  for  she  was  not 
one  of  those  who  were  always  stuffing  themselves  at  teas 
and  lunches,  and  talked  of  a  walk  of  five  blocks  as  hard 
exercise!  She  had  learned  how  to  keep  health  and 
beauty.  What  intelligence  it  shows,  that  she  was  able 
to  grasp  so  difficult  a  matter ;  and  what  splendid  persist 
ence  that  she  was  able  to  carry  out  a  mode  of  life  so 
disagreeable  to  self-indulgence.  If  her  intelligence  and 
her  persistence  could  have  been  turned  to  use!  Pres 
ently  we  were  at  the  butcher  shop.  I  paused  in  the 
doorway  while  she  engaged  in  her  arduous  labor.  Here 
is  the  conversation: 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Toomey."  (Very  gracious  ; 
the  lady  speaking  to  the  trades  person.) 

"  Good  morning,  ma'am."  (Fat  little  butcher  touch 
ing  cracked  and  broken-nailed  hand  to  hat  respect 
fully.) 

"  That  lamb  you  sent  yesterday  was  very  tough." 
"  Sorry,  ma'am.     But  those  kind  of  things  will  hap 
pen,  you  know."      (Most  flatteringly  humble  of  man 
ner.) 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Do  your  best.  I'm  sure  you  try  to 
please.  Send  me — let  me  see — say,  two  chickens  for 
broiling.  You'll  pick  out  nice  ones  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  ma'am.     I'll  attend  to  it  myself." 
"  And  something  for  the  servants.    You  know  what 
they  like." 

"  Yes,  ma'am.    I'll  attend  to  it." 
"  And  you'll  not  overcharge,  will  you  ?  " 
66 1,  ma'am?    I've  been  dealing  with  ladies  for  twenty 
years,  right  here,  ma'am.     I  never  have  overcharged." 

53 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  know.  All  the  ladies  tell  me  you're  honest.  I 
feel  safe  with  you.  Let  me  see,  there  were  some  other 
things.  But  I'm  in  a  hurry.  The  cook  will  tell  your 
boy  when  he  takes  what  I've  ordered.  You'll  be  sure 
to  give  me  the  best  ?  " 

"  I'd  not  dare  send  anything  else  to  you,  ma'am." 
(Groveling.) 

A  gracious  smile,  a  gracious  nod,  and  Edna  re 
joined  me.  Innocent  as  I  was,  and  under  the  spell  that 
blinds  the  American  man  where  the  American  woman 
is  concerned,  I  could  not  but  be  upset  by  this  example 
of  how  our  house  was  run — an  example  that  all  in  an 
instant  brought  to  my  mind  and  enabled  me  to  under 
stand  a  score,  a  hundred  similar  examples.  There  was 
I,  toiling  away  to  make  money,  earning  every  dollar 
by  the  hardest  kind  of  mental  labor,  struggling  to  rise, 
to  make  our  fortune,  and  each  day  my  wife  was  tossing 
carelessly  out  of  the  windows  into  the  street  a  large 
part  of  my  earnings.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do 
about  it. 

Edna's  next  stop  was  at  the  grocer's.  I  had  not 
the  courage  to  halt  and  listen.  I  knew  it  would  be  a 
repetition  of  the  grotesque  interview  with  the  butcher. 
And  she  undoubtedly  a  clever  woman — alert,  improving. 
What  a  mystery !  I  went  on  to  my  office.  That  day, 
without  giving  my  acquaintances  there  an  inkling  of 
what  was  in  my  mind,  I  made  inquiries  into  how  their 
wives  spent  the  money  that  went  for  food — the  most 
important  item  in  the  spending  of  incomes  under  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  a  year.  In  every  case  the  wife  or  the 
mother  did  the  marketing  by  telephone.  All  the  men 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

except  one  took  the  ignorance  and  incompetence  of  the 
management  of  the  household  expenses  as  a  matter  of 
course.  One  man  grumbled  a  little.  I  remember  he 
said :  "  No  wonder  it's  hard  for  the  men  to  save  any 
thing.  The  women  waste  most  of  it  on  the  table,  pay 
ing  double  prices  for  poor  stuff.  I  tell  you,  Loring, 
the  American  woman  is  responsible  for  the  dishonesty  of 
American  commercial  life.  They  are  always  nagging 
at  the  man  for  more  and  more  money  to  spend,  and  in 
spending  it  they  tempt  the  merchants,  the  clerks,  their 
own  servants,  everyone  within  range,  to  become  swin 
dlers  and  thieves." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  I.  "  You're  a  pessimist.  The 
American  woman  is  all  right.  Where'd  you  find  her 
equal  for  intelligence  and  charm  ?  " 

"  She  may  be  intelligent,"  said  he.  "  She  doesn't 
use  it  on  anything  worth  while,  except  roping  in  some 
poor  sucker  to  put  up  for  her  and  to  put  up  with  her. 
And  she  may  have  charm,  but  not  for  a  man  who  has 
cut  his  matrimonial  eye  teeth." 

I  laughed  at  Van  Dyck — that  was  my  grumbling 
friend's  name.  And  I  soon  dropped  the  subject  from 
my  mind.  It  has  never  been  my  habit  to  waste  time  in 
thinking  about  things  when  the  thinking  could  not  pos 
sibly  lead  anywhere.  You  may  say  I  ought  to  have 
interfered,  forced  my  wife  to  come  to  her  senses,  com 
pelled  her  to  learn  her  business.  Which  shows  that 
you  know  little  about  the  nature  of  the  American 
woman.  If  I  had  taken  that  course,  she  would  have 
hated  me,  she  would  have  done  no  better,  and  she  would 
have  scorned  me  as  a  sordid  haggler  over  small  sums 

55 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  money  who  was  trying  to  spoil  with  the  vulgarities 
of  commercial  life  the  beauties  of  the  home.  No,  I 
instinctively  knew  enough  not  to  interfere. 


But  let  us  take  a  long  leap  forward  to  the  day 
when  I  became  president  of  the  railroad,  having  made 
myself  a  rich  man  by  judicious  gambling  with  eight 
thousand  dollars  loaned  me  by  father  Wheatlands.  He 
was  a  rich  man,  and  in  the  way  to  become  very  rich, 
and  he  had  no  heir  but  Edna  after  the  drowning  of 
her  two  brothers  under  a  sailboat  in  Newark  Bay. 
Margot  was  in  a  fashionable  school  over  in  New  York. 
My  wife  and  I,  still  a  young  couple  and  she  beautiful 
— my  wife  and  I  were  as  happy  as  any  married  couple 
can  be  where  they  let  each  other  alone  and  the  husband 
gives  the  wife  all  the  money  she  wishes  and  leaves  her 
free  to  spend  it  as  she  pleases. 

When  I  told  her  of  my  good  fortune,  and  the  sud 
den  and  large  betterment  of  our  finances,  she  said  with 
a  curious  lighting  of  the  eyes,  a  curious  strengthening 
of  the  chin : 

"Now— for  New  York!" 

"  New  York?  "  said  I.     "  What  does  that  mean?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  live  in  New  York,"  replied  she. 

"  But  we  do  live  in  New  York.  Brooklyn  is  part 
of  New  York." 

"  Legally  I  suppose  it  is,"  replied  she.  "  But  mor 
ally  and  aesthetically,  socially,  and  in  every  other  civi 
lized  way,  my  dear  Godfrey,  it  is  part  of  the  backwoods. 
I  can  hardly  wait  to  get  away." 

56 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  happy  here !  "  exclaimed 
I,  marveling,  used  though  I  was  to  her  keeping  her  own 
counsel  strictly  about  the  matters  that  most  interested 
her.  "  You've  certainly  acted  as  if  you  loved  it." 

"  I  didn't  mind  it  at  first,"  conceded  she.  "  But  for 
two  or  three  years  I  have  loathed  it,  and  everybody  that 
lives  in  it." 

I  was  amazed  at  this  last  sally.  "  Oh,  come  now, 
Edna,"  cried  I,  "  you've  got  lots  of  friends  here — lots 
and  lots  of  them." 

I  was  thinking  of  the  dozen  or  so  women  whom  she 
called  and  who  called  her  by  the  first  name,  women  she 
was  with  early  and  late.  Women  she  was  daily  playing 
bridge  with —  Bridge!  I  have  a  friend  who  declares 
that  bridge  is  ruining  the  American  home,  and  I  see  his 
point,  but  I  think  he  doesn't  look  deep  enough.  If  it 
weren't  bridge  it  would  be  something  else.  Bridge  is  a 
striking  example,  but  only  a  single  example,  of  the 
results  of  feminine  folly  and  idleness  that  all  flow  from 
the  same  cause.  However,  let  us  go  back  to  my  talk 
with  Edna.  She  met  my  protest  in  behalf  of  her  friends 
with  a  contemptuous : 

"  I  don't  know  a  soul  who  isn't  frightfully  common." 

"  They're  the  same  sort  of  people  we  are." 

"  Not  the  same  sort  that  /  am,"  declared  she 
proudly.  "  And  not  the  sort  Margot  and  you  are  going 
to  be.  You'll  see.  You  don't  know  about  these  things. 
But  fortunately  I  do." 

"  You  don't  seriously  mean  that  you  want  to  leave 
this  splendid  old  house " 

"  Splendid  ?  It's  hardly  fit  to  live  in.  Of  course,  we 
57 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

had  to  endure  it  while  we  were  poor  and  obscure.  But 
now  it  won't  do  at  all." 

"  And  go  away  from  all  these  people  you've  worked 
so  hard  to  get  in  with — all  these  friends — go  away 
among  strangers.  /  don't  mind.  But  what  would  you 
do?  How'd  you  pass  the  days?  " 

"  These  vulgar  people  bore  me  to  death,"  declared 
she.  "  I've  been  advancing,  if  you  have  stood  still. 
Thank  God,  I've  got  ambition." 

"  Heaven  knows  they've  never  been  my  friends," 
said  I.  "  But  I  must  say  they  seem  nice  enough  people, 
as  people  go.  What's  the  matter  with  'em?  " 

"  They're  common,"  said  she  with  the  languor  of  one 
explaining  when  he  feels  he  will  not  be  understood. 
"  They're  tiresome." 

"  I'll  admit  they're  tiresome,"  said  I.  "  That's  why 
I've  kept  away  from  them.  But  I  doubt  if  they're  more 
tiresome  than  people  generally.  The  fact  is,  my  dear, 
people  are  all  tiresome.  That's  why  they  can't  amuse 
themselves  or  each  other,  but  have  to  be  amused — have 
to  hire  the  clever  people  of  all  sorts  to  entertain  them. 
Instead  of  asking  people  here  to  bore  us  and  to  be  bored, 
why  not  send  them  seats  at  a  theater  or  orders  for  a 
first-class  meal  at  a  first-class  restaurant  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  that's  funny,"  said  my  wife. 
She  had  no  sense  of  humor,  and  the  suggestion  of  a  jest 
irritated  her. 

"  Yes,  it  does  strike  me  as  funny,"  I  admitted. 
"  But  there's  sense  in  it,  too.  .  .  .  I'm  sure  you  don't 
want  to  abandon  your  friends  here.  Why  make  our 
selves  uncomfortable  all  over  again  ?  "  I  took  a  serious 

58 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

persuasive  tone.  "  Edna,  we're  beginning  to  get  used 
to  the  more  stylish  way  of  living  we  took  up  when  we 
left  Passaic  and  came  here  to  live.  Is  it  sensible  to 
branch  out  again  into  the  untried  and  the  unknown? 
Will  we  be  any  wiser  or  any  happier?  You  can  shine 
as  the  big  star  now  in  this  circle  of  friends.  You  like 
to  run  things  socially.  Here's  your  chance." 

"  How  could  I  get  any  pleasure  out  of  running 
things  socially  in  St.  Mary's  ?  "  demanded  she.  "  I've 
outgrown  it.  It  seems  vulgar  and  common  to  me.  It 
is  vulgar  and  common." 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  I  asked  innocently. 

"  If  you  don't  understand,  I  can't  tell  you,"  replied 
she  tartly.*  "  Surely  you  must  see  that  your  wife  and 
your  daughter  are  superior  to  these  people  round  here." 

"  I  don't  compare  my  wife  and  daughter  with  other 
people,"  said  I.  "  To  me  they're  superior  to  anybody 
and  everybody  else  in  the  world.  I  often  wish  we  lived 
Vay  off  in  the  country  somewhere.  I'm  sure  we'd  be 
happier  with  only  each  other.  We're  putting  on  too 
much  style  to  suit  me,  even  now." 

"  I  see  you  living  in  the  country,"  laughed  she, 
"  You'd  come  down  about  once  a  week  or  month." 

I  couldn't  deny  the  truth  in  her  accusation.  I  felt 
it  ought  to  have  been  that  my  wife  and  I  were  so  sym 
pathetic,  so  interested  in  the  same  things,  that  we  were 
absorbed  in  each  other.  But  the  facts  were  against  it. 
We  really  had  almost  nothing  in  common.  I  admired 
her  beauty  and  also  her  intelligence  and  energy,  though 
I  thought  them  misdirected.  She,  I  think,  liked  me  in 
the  primitive  way  of  a  woman  with  a  man.  And  she 

59 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

admired  my  ability  to  make  money,  though  she  thought 
it  rather  a  low  form  of  intellectual  excellence.  How 
ever,  as  she  found  it  extremely  useful,  she  admired  me 
for  it  in  a  way.  I  have  seen  much  of  the  aristocratic 
temperament  that  despises  money,  but  I  have  yet  to  see 
an  aristocrat  who  wasn't  greedier  than  the  greediest 
money-grubber — and  I  must  say  it  is  hard  to  conceive 
anything  lower  than  the  spirit  that  grabs  the  gift  and 
despises  the  giver.  But  then,  some  day,  when  thinking 
is  done  more  clearly,  we  shall  all  see  that  aristocracy 
and  its  spirit  is  the  lowest  level  of  human  nature,  is 
I  simply  a  deep-seated  survival  of  barbarism.  However, 
Edna  and  I  appealed  to  and  satisfied  each  other  in  one 
way;  beyond  that  our  congeniality  abruptly  ended. 
Looking  back,  I  see  now  that  talking  with  her  was  never 
a  pleasure,  nor  was  it  a  pleasure  to  her  to  talk  with  me. 
I  irritated  her ;  she  bored  me. 

How  rarely  in  our  country  do  you  find  a  woman 
who  is  an  interesting  companion  for  a  man,  except  as 
female  and  male  pair  or  survey  the  prospect  of  pair 
ing?  And  it  matters  not  what  line  of  activity  the  man 
is  taking — business,  politics,  literature,  art,  philan 
thropy  even.  The  women  are  eternally  talking  about 
their  superiority  to  the  business  man ;  but  do  they  get 
along  any  better  with  an  artist — unless  he  is  cultivating 
the  woman  for  the  sake  of  an  order  for  a  picture?  Is 
there  any  line  of  serious  endeavor  in  which  an  American 
woman  is  interesting  and  helpful  and  companionable  to 
a  man?  I  can  get  along  very  well  with  an  artist.  I 
have  one  friend  who  is  a  writer  of  novels,  another  who 
is  a  writer  of  plays,  a  third  who  is  a  sculptor.  They 

60 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

are  interested  in  my  work,  and  I  in  theirs.  We  talk 
together  on  a  basis  of  equal  interest,  and  we  give  each. 
other  ideas.  Can  any  American  woman  say  the  same? 
I  don't  inquire  anticipating  a  negative  answer.  I  sim 
ply  put  the  question.  But  I  suspect  the  answer  would 
put  a  pin  in  the  bubble  of  the  American  woman's  pre 
tense  of  superior  culture.  She  is  fooled  by  her  vanity, 
I  fear,  and  by  her  sex  attraction,  and  by  the  influence 
of  the  money  her  despised  father  or  husband  gives  her. 
There's  a  reason  why  America  is  notoriously  the  land 
of  bachelor  husbands — and  that  reason  is  not  the  one 
the  women  and  foreign  fortune  hunters  assert.  The 
American  man  lets  the  case  go  by  default  against  him, 
not  because  he  couldn't  answer,  nor  yet  because  he  is 
polite,  but  because  he  is  indifferent. 

But  my  wife  was  talking  about  her  pro j  ected  assault 
upon  New  York.  "  I  really  must  be  an  extraordinary 
woman,"  said  she.  "  How  I  have  fought  all  these  years 
to  raise  myself,  with  you  dragging  at  me  to  keep  me 
down." 

"  I  ?  "  protested  her  unhappy  husband.  "  Why, 
dear,  I've  never  opposed  you  in  any  way.  And  I've 
tried  to  do  what  I  could  to  help  you.  You  must  admit 
the  money's  been  useful." 

"  Oh,  you've  never  been  mean  about  money,"  con 
ceded  she.  "  But  you  don't  sympathize  with  a  single 
one  of  my  ideals." 

"  I  want  you  to  have  whatever  you  want,"  said  I. 
"  And  anything  I  can  do  to  get  it  for  you,  or  to  help 
you  get  it,  I  stand  ready  to  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Godfrey,  dear,"  said  she,  giving  me 
«  61 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  long  hug  and  a  kiss.  "  No  woman  ever  had  a  more 
generous  husband  than  I  have." 

I  naturally  attached  more  importance  to  this  burst 
of  enthusiasm  then  than  I  do  now.  And  it  is  as  well 
that  I  was  thus  simple-minded.  How  little  pleasure  we 
would  get,  to  be  sure,  if,  when  we  are  praised  or  loved 
by  anybody  because  we  do  that  person 'a  kindness,  we 
paused  to  analyze  and  saw  the  shallow  selfishness  of 
such  praise  or  such  love.  After  all,  it's  only  human 
nature  to  like  those  who  do  as  we  ask  them  and  to  dis 
like  those  who  don't ;  and  I  am  not  quarreling  with  hu 
man  nature — or  with  any  other  of  the  unchangeable  con 
ditions  of  the  universe.  My  own  love  for  Edna — what 
was  it  but  the  natural  result  of  my  getting  what  I 
wanted  from  her,  all  I  wanted?  I  really  troubled  my 
self  little  about  her  incompetence  and  extravagance  and 
craze  for  social  position.  No  doubt  to  this  day  I  should 
be —  But  I  am  again  anticipating. 

"  Generous  ?  Nonsense,"  said  I.  "  It  isn't  gener 
ous  to  try  to  make  you  happy.  That's  my  one  chance 
of  being  happy  myself.  A  busy  man's  got  to  have 
peace  at  home.  If  he  hasn't  he's  like  a  soldier  attacked 
rear  and  front  at  the  same  time." 

"  I  know  you  don't  care  where  we  live,"  she  went  on. 
"  And  for  Margot's  sake  we've  simply  got  to  move  to 
New  York." 

"  Oh,  you  want  her  to  stay  at  home  of  nights,  in 
stead  of  living  at  the  school.  Why  didn't  you  speak  of 
that  first?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  cried  she.  "  How  slow  you  are !  No ; 
for  the  present,  even  if  we  do  live  in  New  York,  I  think 

62 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

it  best  for  Margot  to  keep  on  living  at  the  school.  She's 
barely  started  there.  I  want  her  training  to  be  thor 
ough.  And  while  I'm  learning  as  fast  as  I  can,  I  am 
not  competent  to  teach  her.  I  know,  of  course.  But  I 
haven't  had  the  chance  to  practice.  So  I  can't  teach 
her." 

"  Teach  her  what?  "  I  inquired. 

"  To  be  a  lady — a  practical,  expert  lady,"  replied 
Edna.  "  That's  what  she's  going  to  Miss  Ryper's 
school  for.  And  when  she  comes  out  she'll  be  the  equal 
of  girls  who  have  generations  of  culture  and  breeding 
behind  them." 

"  God  bless  me !  "  cried  I,  laughing.  "  This  Ryper 
woman  must  be  a  wonder." 

"  She  is,"  declared  Edna.  "  It  was  a  great  favor, 
her  letting  Margot  into  the  school." 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  said  I.  "  She  couldn't  do  it 
until  I  got  two  of  the  directors  of  the  road  to  insist 
on  it.  But  I  guess  that  was  merely  a  bluff  of  hers  to 
squeeze  us  for  a  few  hundreds  extra." 

"  Not  at  all,"  Edna  assured  me.  "  You  are  so  igno 
rant,  Godfrey.  Please  do  be  careful  not  to  say  those 
coarse  things  before  people." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  I,  cheerfully,  for  I  was  used 
to  this  kind  of  calling  down.  "  All  the  same,  the  Ryper 
lady  is  hot  for  the  dough." 

Edna  shivered.  She  detested  slang — continued  to 
detest  and  avoid  it  even  after  she  learned  that  it  was 
fashionable.  "  Miss  Ryper  guards  her  list  of  pupils  as 
their  mothers  guard  their  visiting  lists,"  said  she.  "  But 
mow  she  likes  Margot.  The  dear  child  has  been  elected 

68 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  the  most  exclusive  fraternity.  Every  girl  in  it  ha* 
to  wear  hand-made  underclothes  and  has  to  have  had 
at  least  a  father,  a  grandfather,  and  a  great  grand 
father."  Edna  laughed  with  pride  at  her  own  clever 
ness  before  she  went  on.  "  Margot  came  to  me  when 
she  was  proposed,  and  cried  as  if  her  little  heart  would 
break.  She  said  she  didn't  know  anything  about  her 
grandfather  and  great  grandfather.  But  I  hadn't  for 
gotten  to  arrange  that.  I  think  of  everything." 

"  Oh,  that  was  easy  enough,"  said  I.  "  Your  grand 
father  was  a  tailor  and  mine  was  in  the  grocery  business 
like  father." 

Edna  looked  round  in  terror.  "  Sh !  "  she  exclaimed. 
u  Servants  always  listen."  She  went  to  the  door — w« 
were  in  the  small  upstairs  sitting  room — opened  it  sud 
denly,  looked  into  the  hall,  closed  the  door,  and  returned 
to  a  chair  nearer  the  lounge  on  which  I  was  stretched 
comfortably  smoking. 

"  What's  the  matter?  »  said  I. 

"  No  one  was  there,"  said  she.  "  Haven't  I  told  yom 
never  to  speak  of — of  those  horrible  things  ?  " 

"  But  Margot " 

"  Margot  doesn't  know.  She  must  never  know ! 
Poor  child,  she  is  so  sensitive,  it  would  make  her  ill." 

I  lapsed  into  gloomy  silence.  I  had  not  liked  the 
way  Edna  had  been  acting  about  her  parents  and  min« 
ever  since  we  came  to  Brooklyn.  But  I  had  been  busy, 
and  was  averse  to  meddling. 

"  I  gave  Margot  for  the  benefit  of  the  girls  a  gene 
alogy  I've  gotten  up,"  she  went  on.  "  You  know  all 
genealogies  are  more  or  less  faked,  and  I're  no  doubt 

64 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

kers  is  every  bit  as  genuine  as  those  of  half  the  girls 
over  there.  I  fixed  ours  so  that  it  would  take  a  lot  of 
inquiry  to  expose  it.  And  Margot  got  into  the  fra 
ternity." 

"  Are  the  hand-made  underclothes  fake  too  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  no.  They  had  to  be  genuine.  I've  never  let 
Margot  wear  any  other  kind  since  I  learned  about  those 
things.  There's  nothing  that  gives  a  child  such  a  sense 
ef  ladylikeness  and  superiority  as  to  feel  she's  dressed 
right  from  the  skin  out." 

"  Well,  school's  a  different  sort  of  a  place  from  what 
it  was  in  our  day,"  said  I.  The  picture  my  wife  had 
drawn  amused  me,  but  I  somehow  did  not  exactly  like  it. 
My  mind  was  too  little  interested  in  the  direction  of  the 
things  that  absorbed  Edna  for  me  to  be  able  to  put  into 
any  sort  of  shape  the  thoughts  vaguely  moving  about 
in  the  shadows.  "  I'll  bet,"  I  went  on,  "  poor  Margot 
doesn't  have  as  good  a  time  as  we  had." 

"  She'd  hate  that  kind  of  a  time,"  said  Edna. 

I  laughed  and  laid  my  hand  in  her  lap.  Her  hand 
•tole  into  it.  I  watched  her  lovely  face — the  sweet, 
dreamy  expression.  "  What  are  you  thinking  ?  "  said  I 
•oftly,  hopeful  of  romance — what  /  call  romance. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  low  and  awful  we  used  to  be,'* 
replied  she,  "  and  how  splendidly  we  are  getting  away 
from  it." 

I  laughed,  for  I  was  used  to  cold  water  on  my  ro 
mance.  "  All  the  same,"  insisted  I,  "  Margot  would 
envy  us  if  she  knew." 

"  She'd  hate  it,"  Edna  repeated.  "  She's  going  to 
be  an  improvement  on  us." 

65 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Not  on  you,"  I  protested. 

She  looked  at  me  with  tender  sparkling  eyes,  the 
same  lovely  light-brown  eyes  that  had  fascinated  me  as 
a  boy.  Brown  eyes  for  a  woman,  always !  But  they 
must  not  be  of  the  heavy  commonplace  shades  of  brown 
like  a  deer's  or  a  cow's.  They  must  have  light  shades 
in  them,  tints  verging  toward  blue  or  green.  Said 
Edna :  "  I'm  doing  my  best  to  fit  myself.  And  before  I 
get  through,  Godfrey,  I  think  I'll  go  far." 

"  Sure  you  will,7'  said  I,  with  no  disposition  to  turn 
the  cold  douche  on  her  kind  of  romance.  What  an  idiot 
I  was  about  her,  to  be  sure !  I  went  on :  "  And  I'll  see 
that  you  have  the  money  to  grease  the  toboggan  slide 
and  make  the  going  easy." 

She  talked  on  happily  and  confidingly :  "  Yes,  it's 
best  to  leave  Margot  another  year  as  a  boarder  at  Miss 
Hyper's.  By  that  time  we'll  be  established  over  in  New 
York,  and  we'll  have  a  proper  place  for  her  to  receive 
her  friends.  And  perhaps  we'll  have  a  few  friends  of 
our  own." 

"  Swell  friends,  eh?  " 

"  Please  don't  say  swell,  dear,"  corrected  she.  "  It's 
such  a  common  word." 

"  I've  heard  you  say  it,"  I  protested. 

"  But  I  don't  any  more.  I've  learned  better.  And 
now  I've  taught  you  better." 

"  Anything  you  like.  Anybody  you  like,"  said  I. 
When  Edna  and  I  were  together,  with  our  hands  clasped, 
I  was  always  completely  under  her  spell.  She  could  do 
what  she  pleased  with  me,  so  long,  of  course,  as  she 
didn't  interfere  in  my  end  of  the  firm.  And  I  may  add 

66 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

that  she  never  did ;  she  hadn't  the  faintest  notion  what 
I  was  about.  They  say  there  are  thousands  of  Ameri 
can  women  in  the  cities  who  know  their  husbands'  places 
of  business  only  as  street  and  telephone  numbers.  My 
wife  was  one  of  that  kind.  Oh,  yes,  from  the  standpoint 
of  those  who  insist  that  business  and  home  should  be 
separate,  we  were  a  model  couple. 

"  There's  another  matter  I  want  to  talk  over  with 
you,  Godfrey,"  she  went  on. 

"  That's  a  lovely  dress  you're  wearing,"  said  I. 
"  It  goes  so  well  with  your  skin  and  your  hair." 

She  was  delighted,  and  was  moved  to  rise  and  look 
at  herself  in  the  long  mirror.  She  gave  herself  an  ap 
proving  glance,  but  not  more  approving  than  what  she 
saw  merited.  A  long,  slim  beautiful  figure ;  a  dress  that 
set  it  off.  A  lovely  young  tip-tilted  face,  the  face  of  a 
girl  with  fresh,  clear  eyes  and  skin,  the  whitest,  evenest 
sharp  teeth — and  such  hair ! — such  quantities  of  hair 
attractively  arranged. 

From  herself  she  glanced  at  me.  "  No  one'd  ever 
think  what  we  came  from,  would  they?  "  said  she  fondly 
and  proudly.  "  Oh,  Godfrey,  it  makes  me  so  happy 
that  we  look  the  part.  We  belong  where  we're  going. 
The  good  blood  away  back  in  the  family  is  coming  out. 
And  Margot —  I've  always  called  her  the  little  duchess 
— and  she  looks  it  and  feels  it."  Dreamily,  "  Maybe 
she  will  be  some  day." 

"  Why,  she's  a  baby,"  cried  I.  For  I  didn't  like  to 
see  that  my  baby  was  growing  up. 

"  She's  nearly  fourteen,"  said  Edna.  She  was  look 
ing  at  herself  again.  "  Would  you  ever  think  7  had  a 

67 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

daughter  fourteen  years  old? "  said  she,  making  a 
laughing,  saucy  face  at  me. 

I  got  up  and  kissed  her.  "  You  don't  look  as  old 
as  you  did  when  I  married  you,"  said  I,  and  it  was  onlj  * 
slight  exaggeration. 

When  we  sat  again,  she  was  snuggled  into  my  lap 
with  her  head  against  my  shoulder.  She  was  immenselj 
fond  of  being  petted.  They  say  this  is  no  sign  of  a 
loving  nature,  that  cats,  the  least  loving  of  all  pets,  are 
fondest  of  petting.  I  have  no  opinion  on  the  subject. 

"  What  was  it  you  wanted  to  talk  about?  "  said  I. 
"Money?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  laughed  she. 

"  I  supposed  so,  as  that's  the  only  matter  in  whidi 
I  have  any  influence  in  this  family." 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  she,  "  it  t*  money — in 
a  way.  It's  about — our  parents."  She  gave  a  deep 
sigh.  "  Godfrey,  they  hang  over  me  like  a  nightmare!  " 

Her  tragic  seriousness  amused  me.  "  Oh,  cheer  up,w 
said  I,  kissing  her.  "  They  certainly  don't  fit  in  with 
our  stylishness.  But  they're  away  off  there  in  Passaic, 
and  bother  us  as  little  as  we  bother  them.  The  truth 
is,  Edna,  we've  not  acted  right.  We've  been  selfish — 
spending  all  our  prosperity  on  ourselves.  Of  course, 
they've  got  everything  they  really  want,  but — well " 

"  That's  exactly  it,"  said  she  eagerly.  "  My  con 
science  has  been  hurting  me.  We  ought  to — to —  It 
wouldn't  cost  much  to  make  them  perfectly  comfortable 
— so  they'd  not  have  to  work — and  could  get  away 
from  the  grocery — and  the — and  the  " — she  hesitated 
before  saying  "  father's  business,"  as  if  nerying  he*- 

68 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

self  to  pronounce  words  of  shame.  And  when  she  did 
finally  force  out  the  evading  "  father's  business,"  it 
was  with  such  an  accent  that  I  couldn't  help  laughing 
outright. 

"  Undertaking's  a  good-paying  business,"  said  I. 
"  We  certainly  ought  to  be  grateful  to  it.  It  supplied 
the  eight  thousand  dollars  that  gave  me  the  chance  to 
buy  half  the  rolling  mill.  And  you  know  the  rolling 
mill  was  the  start  of  our  fortune." 

"  Do  you  think  father  could  be  induced  to  retire?  '* 
the  asked. 

"  Never,"  said  I.  "  Your  father's  a  rich  man,  for 
Passaic.  He's  got  two  hundred  thousand  at  least  hived 
away  in  tenements  that  pay  from  twenty  to  thirty-five 
per  cent.  And  his  business  now  brings  in  ten  to  fifteen 
thousand  a  year  straight  along." 

"  You  can  make  your  father  retire  ?  " 

I  laughed.  "  Poor  dad !  I've  been  keeping  him  from? 
being  retired  by  the  sheriff.  He's  squeezing  out  a  bare 
living.  He'd  be  delighted  to  stop  and  have  all  his  time 
for  talking  politics  and  religion." 

"  You  could  buy  them  a  nice  place  a  little  way  out 
in  the  country,  on  some  quiet  road.  I'm  sure  your 
mother  and  your  old  maid  sister  would  love  it." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I.     "  If  it  wasn't  too  quiet." 

44  But  it  must  be  quiet.  And  we'll  induce  my  father 
and  mother  to  buy  a  place  near  by." 

"  Your  father'll  not  give  up  the  business." 

"  I've  thought  it  all  out,"  said  Edna,  whose  mind 
was  equal  to  whatever  task  she  gave  it.  "  You  must 
get  some  one  to  offer  him  a  price  he  simply  can't  refuse,, 

69 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

and  make  a  condition  that  he  shall  not  go  into  business 
again.    Aren't  those  things  done?  " 

I  was  somewhat  surprised,  but  not  much,  at  the 
knowledge  of  business  this  displayed.  "  Why ! — Why !  " 
laughed  I.  "  And  you  pretend  to  know  nothing  about 
business !  " 

She  was  in  a  sensible,  loving  mood  that  day.  So  she 
said  with  a  quiet  little  laugh :  "  I  make  it  a  point  to 
know  anything  that's  useful  to  me.  I  don't  know  much 
about  business.  Why  should  I  bother  with  it?  I've 
got  confidence  in  you." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  I  had  got  a  peep  into  her 
mind  and  had  seen  how  she  looked  on  everyone,  includ 
ing  me,  as  a  wheel  in  her  machine,  and  never  interfered 
unless  the  wheel  didn't  work  to  suit  her.  I  laughed 
delightedly.  There  was  something  charmingly  feminine, 
thought  I,  about  this  point  of  view  so  upside  down. 
"  Yes,  I  guess  your  father'll  jump  for  the  bait  you 
suggest,"  said  I.  "  But  why  disturb  him?  He  loves 
his  undertaking." 

She  shivered. 

"  And  he'll  be  miserable  idling  about." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he'll  get  along  all  right,"  said  she, 
with  sarcasm  and  with  truth.  "  He'll  devote  himself  to 
suing  his  tenants  and  counting  his  money.  .  .  .  God- 
frey,  you  simply  must  get  those  people  in  Passaic  out 
of  our  way.  I've  been  a  little  nervous  over  here,  though 
I  knew  that  none  of  these  dreadful  people  we  associate 
with  has  anything  better  in  the  way  of  family  than  us, 
and  some  have  a  lot  worse.  Oh,  it's  frightful  to  have 
parents  one's  ashamed  of !  " 

70 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  think  I  blushed.  I'm  sure  I  looked  away  to  avoid 
seeing  her  expression.  "  It's  frightful  to  be  ashamed 
of  one's  parents,"  said  I. 

"  Now  don't  be  hypocritical,"  cried  she.  "  You 
know  perfectly  well  you  are  ashamed  of  your  parents, 
as  I  am  of  mine." 

"  I'll  admit,"  said  I,  "  that  if  they  showed  up  at  the 
office,  I'd  be  a  bit  upset  and  would  feel  apologetic. 
But  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  for  feeling  that  way." 

"  If  you  only  realized  about  things,"  said  she,  which 
was  her  phrase  for  hitting  at  me  as  lacking  in  refined 
instincts,  "  you'd  not  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  but  would 
frankly  suffer.  They  are  a  disgrace  to  us." 

"  They're  honest  people,  well  meaning,  and  as  good 
as  the  best  in  every  essential  way,"  said  I.  "  Believe 
me,  Edna,  the  fault  isn't  in  them.  It's  in  us.  Suppose 
you  found  some  day  that  Margot  was  ashamed  of  you 
and  me." 

"  But  she'll  not  be,"  retorted  Edna,  "  I  for  one  will 
see  to  it  that  she  has  no  cause  to  be  anything  but 
proud." 

I  couldn't  but  admit  that  there  were  two  sides  to 
the  problem  of  our  parents.  It  was  shameful  to  be 
ashamed  of  them.  But  it  was  also  human.  I  couldn't 
— and  can't — utterly  damn  in  Edna  a  fault,  a  vulgar 
weakness,  I  myself  had,  and  almost  everyone  I  knew. 
No  doubt,  gentle  reader,  you  are  scandalized  and  dis 
gusted.  But  one  of  my  objects  in  relating  this  whole 
story  is  to  scandalize  and  to  disgust  you.  You  have 
had  too  much  consideration  at  the  hands  of  writers — 
you  and  your  hypocritical  virtues  and  your  hysterical 

71 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

nerves.  If  you  are  an  American,  you  are  probably  far 
in  advance  of  your  parents  in  worldly  knowledge,  in 
education,  in  every  way  except  perhaps  manly  and 
womanly  self-respect.  For  along  with  your  progress 
has  come  an  infection  of  snobbishness  and  toadyism 
that  seems  in  some  mysterious  way  inseparable  from 
higher  civilization.  So  be  shocked  and  disgusted  with 
Edna  and  me,  and  don't  turn  your  hypocritical  eyes 
inward  on  your  own  secret  thoughts  and  actions  about 
your  own  humble  parents.  Above  all,  don't  learn  from 
this  horrifying  episode  a  decenter  mode  of  thinking  and 
feeling — and  acting. 

"  We  must  get  them  out  of  the  way  before  we  move 

to  New  York,"  said  Edna.     "  Ever  since  Margot  began 

«  at  Mrs.  Hyper's  I've  been  on  pins  and  needles.     You 

f  don't  know  how  malicious  fashionable  people  are.    Why, 

some  of  them  who  have  nothing  to  do  might  at  any  time 

run  out  to  Passaic  and  see  for  themselves." 

Edna  was  sitting  up  in  my  lap,  gazing  at  me  with 
wide  harassed-looking  eyes.  I  burst  out  laughing. 
"  They  might  take  a  camera  along,  and  get  some  snap 
shots,"  I  suggested. 

Edna's  face  contracted  with  horror  and  her  form 
grew  limp  and  weak.  "  My  God ! "  she  cried.  "  S» 
they  might.  Godfrey,  we  must  attend  to  it  at  once." 


m 


I  HAVE  never  been  able  to  come  to  a  satisfactory 
rerdict  as  to  the  intelligence  of  the  human  race.  Is  it 
•tupid,  or  is  it,  rather,  sluggish?  Is  it  unable  to  think, 
or  does  it  refuse  to  think?  Does  it  believe  the  follies 
it  pretends  to  believe  and  usually  acts  upon,  or  is  it 
the  victim  of  its  own  willful  prejudices  and  hypocrisies? 
Never  have  I  decided  that  a  certain  man  or  woman  was 
practically  witless,  but  that  he  or  she  has  confounded 
me  by  saying  or  doing  something  indicating  shrewdness 
or  even  wisdom. 

The  women  are  especially  difficult  to  judge.  Take 
Edna,  for  example. 

It  was  impossible  to  interest  her  in  anything  worth 
while.  But  as  to  the  things  in  which  she  was  inter 
ested,  none  could  have  thought  more  clearly  or  keenly, 
or  could  have  acted  with  more  vigor  and  effect.  I  have  • 
often  made  serious  blunders — inexcusable  blunders — in 
managing  my  own  affairs.  To  go  no  further,  my 
management  of  my  family  would  have  convicted  me  of 
imbecility  before  any  court  not  made  up  of  good-na 
tured,  indifferent,  woman-worshiping,  woman-despising 
American  husbands.  Yes,  I  have  made  the  stupidest 
blunders  in  all  creation.  But  I  cannot  recall  a  single 
notable  blunder  made  by  Edna  in  the  matters  which 

73 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

alone  she  deemed  worthy  of  her  attention.  She  decided 
what  she  wanted.  She  moved  upon  it  by  the  best  route, 
whether  devious  or  direct  or  a  combination  of  the  two. 
And  she  always  got  it. 

You  may  say  her  success  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
her  objects  were  trivial.  But  if  you  will  think  a  mo 
ment,  you  will  appreciate  that  a  thing's  triviality  does 
not  necessarily  make  it  easy  to  attain.  As  much  energy 
and  skill  may  be  shown  in  winning  a  sham  battle  as  in 
winning  a  real.  Still,  I  suppose  minds  are  cast  in  molds 
of  various  sizes,  and  one  cast  in  a  small  mold  can  deal 
only  with  the  small.  And  I  guess  that,  from  whatever 
cause,  the  minds  of  women  are  of  diverse  kinds  of  smaller 
molds.  Perhaps  this  is  the  result  of  bad  education. 
Perhaps  better  education  will  correct  it.  I  do  not 
know.  I  can  speak  only  of  what  is — of  Edna  as  she  is 
and  always  has  been. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  to  fell  the  genealogical 
tree,  that  an  artificial  one  might  be  stood  up  in  its  place, 
she  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  action. 

It  was  on  the  Sunday  following  our  talk — the  ear 
liest  possible  day — that  she  took  me  for  the  first  visit 
we  had  made  our  parents  in  nearly  three  years.  We  had 
sent  them  presents.  We  had  written  them  letters.  We 
had  received  painfully  composed  and  ungrammatical  re 
plies — these  received  both  for  Edna  and  myself  at  my 
office,  because  she  feared  the  servants  would  pry  into 
periodically  arriving  exhibits  of  illiteracy.  We  had 
written  them  of  coming  and  bringing  Margot  with  us. 
We  had  received  suggestions  of  their  coming  to  see  us, 
which  Edna  had  evaded  by  such  excuses  as  that  we  were 

74 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

moving  or  that  she  or  Margot  was  not  well  or  that  the 
cook  had  abruptly  deserted.  The  world  outside  Passaic 
was  a  vague  place  to  our  old  fathers  and  mothers.  Their 
own  immediate  affairs  kept  them  busy.  So  with  no  sense 
of  deliberate  alienation  on  their  side  and  small  and 
mildly  intermittent  sense  of  it  on  our  side,  the  months 
and  the  years  passed  without  our  seeing  one  another. 

Edna  announced  to  me  the  intended  visit  only  an 
hour  before  we  started.  It  was  a  habit  of  hers — a 
clever  habit,  too — never  to  take  anyone  into  her  con 
fidence  about  her  plans  until  the  right  moment — that  is, 
the  moment  when  execution  was  so  near  at  hand  that 
discussion  would  seem  futile.  At  a  quarter  before  nine 
on  that  Sunday  morning  she  said : 

"  Don't  dress  for  church.  This  is  a  good  day  to 
make  that  trip  to  Passaic." 

"We'll  go  by  Miss  Ryper's  for  Margot,"  said  I. 
"  How  the  old  people  will  stare  when  they  see  her !  " 

Edna  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  suddenly  uncovered 
unmistakable  evidence  of  my  insanity.  Then  I  who  had 
clean  forgot  her  foolish  notions  remembered.  "  But 
why  not  ?  "  I  urged.  "  It  will  give  them  so  much 
pleasure." 

"  Trash!  "  ejaculated  she.  "  They  don't  care  a  rap 
about  her.  They  can't,  as  they've  not  seen  her  since 
she  was  a  baby.  And  Margot  would  suffer  horribly. 
I  think  it  would  be  wicked  to  give  a  sweet,  happy  young 
girl  a  horrible  shock." 

This  grotesque  view  of  the  effect  of  the  sight  of 
grandparents  upon  a  grandchild  struck  me  as  amusing. 
But  there  was  no  echo  of  my  laughter  in  the  disgusted 

75 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

face  of  my  wife.  I  sobered  and  said :  "  Yes,  it  would 
give  her  a  shock.  We've  made  a  mistake,  bringing  her 
up  in  that  way." 

"  Too  late  to  discuss  it  now,"  said  Edna. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  could  not  but  agree.  "  I  guess  the 
mischiefs  done  beyond  repair." 

Said  Edna :  "  Have  you  any  sense  of — of  them  being 
your  father  and  mother?  " 

"  Rather,"  said  I.  "  My  childhood  is  very  vivid  to 
me,  and  not  at  all  disagreeable." 

"  It  seems  to  me  like  a  bad  dream — unreal,  and  to 
be  forgotten  as  quickly  as  I  can." 

She  said  this  with  a  fine,  spiritual  look  in  her  eyes, 
and  I  must  say  that  Edna,  refined,  delicately  beautiful, 
fashionably  dressed,  speaking  her  English  with  an  ele 
gant  accent,  did  not  suggest  fusty-dusty,  queer-looking 
Weeping  Willie  with  his  hearse  and  funeral  coaches,  his 
embalming  apparatus  and  general  appearance  of  ani 
mated  casket,  nor  yet  fat,  sloppy  Ma  Wheatlands,  al 
ways  in  faded  wrappers  and  with  holes  cut  in  her  shoes 
for  her  bunions. 

"  Wear  your  oldest  business  suit,"  said  Edna,  com 
ing  back  to  earth  from  the  contemplation  of  her  own 
elevation  and  grandeur.  "  I  shall  dress  as  quietly  as  I 
dare.  We  mustn't  arouse  t*he  suspicions  of  the  serv 
ants." 

Edna's  fooleries  amused  me.  I  didn't  then  appre 
ciate  the  dangers  of  tolerating  and  laughing  at  the  bad 
habits  of  a  fascinating  child.  If  I  had,  little  good  I'd 
have  accomplished,  I  suspect.  However,  I  got  myself 
up  as  Edna  directed,  and  when  I  saw  how  it  irritated 

76 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

her  I  stopped  making  such  remarks  as :  "  Shall  I  wear 
a  collar?  Hadn't  I  better  sneak  out  the  back  way  and 
join  you  at  the  ferry?  "  I  should  have  liked  to  get 
some  fun  out  of  our  doings ;  that  would  have  taken  at 
least  the  saw  edge  off  my  feelings  of  self-contempt.  I 
am  not  fond  of  hypocrisy,  yet  for  that  one  occasion  I 
should  have  welcomed  the  familiar  human  shamming  and 
faking  in  such  matters.  But  Edna  would  put  the  thing 
through  like  one  of  her  father's  funerals.  As  we,  in 
what  was  practically  disguise,  issued  forth,  she  said 
loudly  enough  for  the  cocking  ear  of  a  maid  who  chanced 
to  be  in  the  front  hall: 

"  Anyhow,  the  country  dust  won't  spoil  these 
clothes.  I'm  so  glad  it's  clear.  How  charming  the 
woods  will  look." 

Just  enough  to  deceive.  Edna  expanded  upon  her 
cleverness  in  never  saying  too  much,  because  saying  too 
much  always  started  people,  especially  servants,  to 
thinking.  But  she  abruptly  checked  her  flow  of  self- 
praise  as  we  seated  ourselves  in  the  ferry  and  she  looked 
about.  There,  not  a  dozen  seats  away,  loomed  our 
cook !  Yes,  no  mistake,  it  was  our  Mary,  "  gotten  up 
regardless  "  for  a  Sunday  outing. 

"  Do  you  see  Mary?  "  said  my  wife. 

"  She's  the  most  conspicuous  female  in  sight,"  said 
I.  "  She's  a  credit  to  us." 

"  I  must  have  been  mad,"  groaned  Edna,  "  to  giy« 
her  a  holiday !  Always  the  way.  I  never  do  a  generous, 
kind-hearted  thing  that  I  don't  have  to  pay  for  it." 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  said  I. 

"  She  hates  us,"  explained  Edna.  "  Cooks — Irish 
6  77 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

cooks — invariably  hate  the  families   they  draw  wages 
from.     She's  dogging  us." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  I.  "  She  probably  hasn't  even 
seen  us." 

But  Edna  was  not  listening;  she  was  contriving. 
"  We  must  let  her  leave  the  boat  ahead  of  us.  Pretend 
not  to  see  her." 

I  obeyed  orders.  In  the  Jersey  City  train  shed  we, 
lagging  behind,  saw  her  take  a  train  bound  for  a  dif 
ferent  destination  from  ours.  Much  relieved,  Edna  led 
the  way  to  the  Passaic  train.  Hardly  were  we  seated 
when  in  at  the  door  of  the  coach  hurried  our  Mary, 
excited  and  blown.  She  came  beaming  down  the  aisle. 
Edna  saluted  her  graciously  and  calmly. 

"  I  got  in  the  wrong  train,"  said  Mary.  "  It'd 
never  have  took  me  nowheres  near  my  cousin  in 
Passaic." 

Edna's  composure  was  admirable.  Said  I,  when 
Mary  had  passed  on,  "  Now  what,  my  dear?  " 

"  You  see  she  is  dogging  us,"  replied  Edna.  "  I've 
not  a  doubt  she  knows  all  about  us." 

"  I  don't  thwk  she's  got  a  camera,"  said  I.  "  Still, 
they  make  them  very  small  nowadays." 

"  We  shall  have  to  go  on  in  the  train,  and  return 
home  from  the  station  beyond,"  said  Edna. 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  said  I.  "  But  as  for  me,  I  get 
off  at  Passaic  and  go  to  see  the  old  folks." 

"  Please  stop  your  joking,"  said  Edna.  "  If  you 
had  any  pride  you  couldn't  joke." 

"  I  am  serious,"  said  I.  "  I  shall  go  to  see  mother 
and  father." 

78 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  No  doubt  her  cousin  lives  in  the  same  part  of  the 
slums,"  said  Edna.  "  Oh,  it  is  hideous!  " 

I  don't  know  what  possessed  me — whether  a  fit  of 
indigestion  and  obstinacy  or  a  sudden  access  of  sense 
of  decency  as  I  approached  my  old  home.  Whatever 
it  was,  it  moved  me  to  say:  "My  dear,  this  nonsense 
has  gone  far  enough.  We  will  do  what  we  set  out 
to  do." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Edna. 

"  Then  I'll  drop  off  at  Passaic  alone,  and  hire  a 
trap,  and  give  Mary  a  seat  in  it  as  far  as  her  cousin's. 
I'm  not  proud  of  my  parents,  the  more  shame  to  me. 
But  there's  a  limit  to  my  ability  to  degrade  myself." 

Edna  and  I  had  not  lived  together  all  those  years 
without  her  learning  the  tone  I  use  when  I  will  not  be 
trifled  with.  She  did  not  argue.  She  sat  silent  and  pale 
beside  me.  When  the  train  stopped  at  Passaic  she  fol 
lowed  me  from  the  car.  Mary  descended  ahead  of  us 
and  moved  off  at  as  brisk  a  pace  as  tight  corsets  and 
stiff  new  shoes  would  permit,  in  a  direction  exactly  op 
posite  that  we  were  to  take. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  we  didn't  go  on?  "  said  I,  eager 
to  make  it  up. 

She  made  no  reply.  She  maintained  haughty  and 
injured  silence  until  we  were  within  sight  of  the  houses. 
Then  she  said  curtly : 

"  I'll  do  the  talking  about  our  plans  for  them." 

"  That'll  be  best,"  said  I,  most  conciliatory. 

I  had  not  intended  to  say  this.  There  had  been  a 
half-formed  resolution  in  my  mind  to  oppose  those  plans. 
But  her  anger  roused  in  me  such  a  desire  to  pacify  her 

79 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

that  I  promptly  yielded,  where,  I  must  in  honesty  con 
fess,  I  was  little  short  of  indifferent.  American  hus 
bands  have  the  reputation  of  being  the  most  docile  and 
the  worst  henpecked  men  in  the  world.  All  foreigners 
say  so,  and  our  women  believe  it.  In  fact,  nothing 
could  be  further  from  the  truth.  The  docility  of  Ameri 
can  husbands  is  the  good  nature  of  indifference.  A 
friend  of  mine  has  the  habit  of  saying  that  his  most 
valued  and  most  valuable  possession  is  his  long  list  of 
things  he  cares  not  a  rap  about.  It  is  a  typically 
American  and  luminous  remark.  The  men  of  other 
j nations  agitate  over  trifles,  love  to  have  the  sense  of 
being  master  at  home — usually  their  one  and  only 
*  chance  for  a  free  swing  at  the  joyous  feeling  of  being 
|  boss.  The  American  man,  absorbed  in  his  important 
work  at  office  or  factory,  and  not  caring  especially 
about  anything  else,  lets  thieving  politicians  rule  in 
public  affairs,  lets  foolish,  incompetent  women  rule 
in  domestic  affairs.  He  has  a  half-conscious  philos 
ophy  that  he  is  shrewd  enough,  if  he  attends  to  his 
business,  to  make  money  faster  than  they  can  take  it 
away  from  him,  and  that,  if  he  does  not  attend  to  his 
business  only,  he  will  have  nothing  either  for  thieving 
politician  and  spendthrift  wife  or  for  himself.  If  you 
wish  to  discover  how  little  there  is  in  the  notion  of  his 
docility,  meddle  with  something  he  really  cares  about. 
Many  a  political  rascal,  many  a  shiftless  wife,  has  done 
it  and  has  gotten  a  highly  disagreeable  surprise. 

Perhaps  what  I  saw  had  as  much  to  do  with  my 
tame  acquiescence  in  my  wife's  projects  as  my  desire 
to  have  peace  between  her  and  me,  when  peace  meant 

80 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

yielding  what  only  a  vague  and  feeble  filial  impulse 
moved  me  to  contest.  I  had  what  I  thought  was  a  clear 
and  vivid  memory  of  my  natal  place  and  Edna's — how 
the  two  houses  looked,  how  small  and  shabby  they  were, 
how  mean  their  surroundings,  how  plain  their  interiors. 
But  as  we  drove  up  I  discovered  that  memory  had  been 
pleasantly  deceiving  me.  Could  these  squalid  hovels, 
these  tiny,  hideous  boxes  set  in  two  dismal  weedy  oblongs 
of  unkempt  yards — could  these  be  our  old  homes  ?  And 
the  bent  old  laboring  man  and  his  wife — we  had  drawn 
up  in  front  of  my  home — could  they  be  my  father  and 
my  mother? 

A  feeling  of  sickness,  of  nausea  came  over  me.  Not 
from  repulsion  for  my  parents — thank  God,  I  had  not 
sunk  that  low.  But  from  abhorrence  of  myself,  so  de 
graded  by  the  "  higher  world  "  into  which  prosperity 
and  Edna's  ambitions  had  dragged  me  that  I  could 
look  down  upon  the  gentle  old  man  and  the  patient,  lov 
ing  old  woman  to  whom  I  owed  life  and  a  fair  start  in 
the  world.  My  blood  burned  and  my  eyes  sank  as  they 
greeted  me,  their  homely  old  hands  trembling,  their 
mouths  distorted  by  emotion  and  age  and  missing  teeth. 
I  turned  away  while  they  were  kissing  Edna,  for  I  felt 
I  should  hate  her  and  loathe  myself  if  I  saw  the  ex 
pression  that  must  be  in  her  face. 

"  There  are  my  father  and  mother !  "  she  cried  in  a 
suffocating  voice.  And  we  three  Lorings  were  watching 
her  hurry  across  the  yard  and  through  the  gap  in  the 
fence  between  the  two  places.  My  sister  came  forward. 
We  kissed  each  other  as  awkwardly  as  two  strangers.  I 
looked  at  her  dazedly.  Mary,  our  cook,  was  an  impos- 

81 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing  looking  lady  beside  this  thin-haired,  coarse-featured 
old  maid.  In  embarrassed  silence  we  four  entered  the 
house.  I  am  not  tall  nor  in  the  least  fat,  yet  I  had  an 
uncontrollable  impulse  to  stoop  and  to  squeeze  as  I 
entered  the  squat  and  narrow  doorway.  That  miser 
able  little  "  parlor !  " 

As  we  sat  silent  my  roving  glance  at  last  sought  my 
mother's  face.  Oh,  the  faces,  the  masks,  with  which 
freakish  and  so  often  savagely  ironic  fate  covers  and 
hides  our  souls,  making  fair  seem  foul  and  foul  seem 
fair,  making  beauty  repellent  and  ugliness  seem  beau 
tiful.  Suddenly  through  that  plain,  time-  and  toil- 
scarred  mask,  through  those  dim,  sunken  eyes,  I  saw 
her  soul — her  mother's  heart — looking  at  me.  And  the 
tears  poured  into  my  eyes.  "  Mother !  "  I  sobbed  in  a 
choking  voice,  and  I  put  my  arms  round  her  and  nestled 
against  her  heart,  a  boy  again — a  bad  boy  with  a  streak 
of  good  in  him.  I  felt  how  proud  she — they  all — were 
of  me,  the  son  and  brother,  who  had  gone  forth  and  ful 
filled  the  universal  American  dream  of  getting  up  in 
the  world.  I  hoped,  I  prayed  that  they  would  not  re 
alize  what  a  poor  creature  I  was,  with  my  snobbish 
shame. 

There  was  an  awkward,  rambling  attempt  at  talk. 
But  we  had  nothing  to  talk  about — nothing  in  common. 
I  happened  to  think  of  our  not  having  brought  Margot ; 
how  shameful  it  was,  yet  how  glad  I  felt,  and  how  self- 
contemptuous  for  being  glad.  To  break  that  awful 
silence  I  enlarged  upon  Margot — her  beauty,  her  clever 
ness. 

"  She  must  be  like  Polly  " — my  sister's  name  was 
83 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Polly — "  like    Polly    was    at    her    age,"    observed    my 
mother. 

I  looked  at  Polly  Ann,  in  whose  faded  face  and 
withered  form — faded  and  withered  though  she  was  not 
yet  forty,  was  in  fact  but  seven  or  eight  years  older  than 
I.  Like  Polly !  I  could  speak  no  more  of  Margot,  the 
delicate  loveliness  of  a  rare,  carefully  reared  hot-house 
exotic.  Yes,  exotic ;  for  the  girls  and  the  women 
brought  up  in  the  super-refinements  of  prosperous  class 
silliness  seem  foreign  to  this  world — and  are. 

A  few  minutes  that  seemed  hours,  and  Edna  came 
in,  her  father  and  mother  limping  and  hobbling  in  her 
train.  Edna  was  sickly  pale  and  her  eyelids  refused  to 
rise.  I  shook  hands  with  old  Willie  Wheatlands,  hesi 
tated,  then  kissed  the  fat,  sallow,  swinging  cheek  of  my 
mother-in-law.  Said  Edna  in  a  hard,  forced  voice : 

"  I've  explained  that  Margot  isn't  well  and  that 
we've  got  to  get  back " 

"  Mercy  me !  "  cried  my  mother.  "  Ain't  you  going 
to  stay  to  supper  ?  " 

Supper!  It  was  only  half-past  twelve.  Supper 
could  not  be  until  five  or  half  past.  We  had  been  there 
half  an  hour  and  already  conversation  was  exhausted 
and  time  had  become  motionless. 

"  We  intended  to,"  said  Edna.  "  But  Margot  wasn't 
at  all  well  when  we  left.  We  simply  can't  stay  away 
long.  We'd  not  have  come,  but  we  felt  we'd  never  get 
here  if  we  kept  on  letting  things  interfere." 

"  You  didn't  leave  Margy  alone?  "  demanded  Edna's 
mother. 

"  Almost,"  said  Edna.     "  Only  a — a  servant." 
83 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Oh,  you  keep  a  nurse  girl,  too,"  said  Polly.  "  I 
thought  Edna  didn't  look  as  if  she  did  any  of  her  own 
work." 

"  Yes,  I  have  a — a  girl,  in  addition  to  the  cook," 
replied  Edna,  flushing  as  she  thus  denied  three  of  her 
five  servants — flushing  not  because  of  the  denial,  but 
because  in  her  confession  she  had  almost  forgotten 
about  the  numerous  excuses  based  on  the  cook.  "  God 
frey  has  been  doing  very  well,  and  we  felt  we  could 
afford  it." 

"  Better  get  rid  of  her,"  advised  old  Willie  sourly. 
"  And  of  the  cook,  too.  Servant  girls  is  mighty  waste 
ful." 

"  And  she'll  teach  Margy  badness,"  said  my  mother. 
"  Them  servants  is  full  of  poison.  Even  if  yer  pa'd  had 
money  I'd  never  have  allowed  no  servant  round  my  chil 
dren,  no  more'n  a  snake  in  the  cradle.  I  hope  she's  a 
good  Christian,  and  not  a  Catholic?  " 

"  She's  all  right,"  declared  Edna  nervously.  "  But 
we'll  have  to  be  going  soon." 

"  Yes ;  that  there  girl  might  git  drunk,"  said  Mrs. 
Wheatlands. 

"  And  set  fire  to  the  house  maybe,"  said  my  mother. 
"  I  heard  of  a  case  just  last  week." 

"  I  wish  you  hadn't  said  that,"  cried  Edna,  her  tones 
of  protest  more  like  jubilation.  "  I'll  be  wretched  until 
I'm  home  again." 

Mother  told  in  detail  and  with  rising  excitement  the 
story  of  the  drunken  nurse  girl  who  had  burned  up  her 
self  and  her  charges,  a  pair  of  lovely  twins.  From  that 
moment  our  families  were  anxious  for  us  to  go.  The 

84 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


three  women  could  see  the  girl  drunk  and  the  house 
burning.  The  two  grandfathers,  while  less  imaginative, 
were  almost  as  uneasy.  Besides,  no  doubt  our  families 
found  us  full  as  tiring  as  we  found  them. 

"  But  before  we  go,"  said  Edna,  in  a  business-like 
tone,  "  there's  one  thing  we  wanted  to  talk  about.  God 
frey  has  had — that  is,  he  has  done  very  well  in  business. 
And  of  course  our  first  thought — one  of  our  first 
thoughts — was  what  could  we  do  for  you  all  down  here. 
We  hate  to  think  of  your  living  in  this  unhealthful  part 
of  the  town.  We  want  to  see  you  settled  in  some  health 
ful  place,  up  in  the  hills." 

We  were  watching  the  faces  of  our  five  kinsfolk. 
We  could  make  nothing  of  their  expression.  It  was 
heavy,  dull — mere  listening,  without  a  hint  of  even  com 
prehension  behind. 

"  We  thought  you,  father,  and  Mr. — father  Loring 
— might  look  round  and  find  a  nice  farm  with  a  big 
comfortable  house — plenty  big  enough  for  you  all — and 
Godfrey  will  buy  it,  and  will  pay  for  a  man  and  a  woman 
to  look  after  you.  He  has  done  well,  as  I  said,  and  he 
can  afford  it.  In  fact,  they've  made  him  president  of 
the  railroad." 

My  father,  my  mother,  and  my  sister  exchanged 
glances.  A  long,  awed  silence.  Old  Willie  spoke  in  his 
squeaky,  stingy  voice :  "  I  can't  leave  my  business.  I 
ain't  footless  like  Loring  there.  My  business  pays." 

"  You  can  sell  it,"  said  Edna.  "  You  know  you 
ought  to  retire.  You  were  telling  me  how  bad  your 
health  had  been." 

"  Nobody  else  couldn't  make  nothing  like  what  I 
85 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

make  out  of  it.  The  men  growing  up  nowadays  ain't  no 
account.  The  no-account  women  with  heads  full  of  fool 
ishness  leads  'em  off." 

Edna  agreed  with  him,  pointed  out  that  he'd  have 
to  give  up  soon  anyhow,  appealed  to  his  cupidity  for 
real  estate  by  expanding  upon  the  size  and  value  of  the 
farm  I  was  willing  to  give  him.  She  made  a  strong  im 
pression.  The  women  were  converted  by  the  prospect 
of  having  help  with  the  work.  My  father  had  long 
dreamed  of  a  home  in  the  country.  He  had  not  the 
imagination  to  picture  how  he  would  be  bored,  away 
from  the  loafers  with  whom  he  talked  politics  and  re 
ligion.  "  And,"  said  Edna,  "  you'll  have  horses  and 
things  to  ride  in,  so  you  can  go  where  you  please  when 
ever  you  please." 

We  had  roused  them.  We  had  dazzled  them.  It 
was  plain  that  if  a  purchaser  could  be  found  for  the 
Wheatlands  undertaking  business,  Edna  would  carry  her 
point.  "  Godfrey  will  look  for  somebody  to  take  the 
business,"  said  she  to  her  father.  "  I  want  you  and 
Father  Loring  to  start  out  to-morrow  morning,  and  not 
stop  till  you've  found  a  farm." 

I  understood  an  uncertain  gleam  in  old  Willie's  eyes. 
"  About  the  price,"  said  I,  speaking  for  the  first  time, 
"  I'm  willing  to  pay  twenty-five  thousand  down  for  the 
place  alone,  and  as  I'll  pay  cash,  you  ought  to  be  able 
on  mortgage  to  get  a  farm — or  two  or  three  adjoining 
farms — that  would  cost  twice  that." 

The  two  families  were  dumbfounded. 

"  I  know  I  can  trust  you,  Mr.  Wheatlands,  to  get 
the  money's  worth." 

86 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Buy  a  big  place,"  said  Edna,  of  the  unexpected 
timely  shrewdnesses.  "  Go  back  from  the  main  roads 
where  land's  so  dear." 

Wheatlands  nodded.  "  That's  a  good  idea,"  said  he. 
"  There'll  be  plenty  of  roads  after  a  while." 

Edna  was  ready  to  depart.  "Then  it's  settled?" 
said  she. 

Her  father  nodded.  "  I'm  willing  to  see  what  cam 
be  done.  But  I'd  rather  not  have  Ben  Loring  along. 
He'd  interfere  with  a  good  bargain." 

"  Yes,  you  go  alone,  Willie,"  said  my  father. 
"  Anyhow,  I've  got  to  'tend  store.  I  can't  afford  a 
boy  any  more." 

The  mention  of  the,  to  them,  enormous  sum  of  money 
had  put  them  in  a  state  of  awe  as  to  Edna  and  me.     It 
saddened  me  to  observe  how  quickly  the  weed  of  snob 
bishness,  whose  seeds  are  in  all  human  nature,  sprang  up 
and  dominated  the  whole  garden.     They  lost  the  sense 
of  our  blood  kinship  with  them.    They  felt  that  we,  able 
to  dispense  such  splendid  largess,  were  of  a  superior 
order  of  being.     And  I  saw  that  my  and  Edna's  feel 
ing  of  strangeness  toward  them  was  intimacy  beside  the 
5  feeling  of  strangeness  toward  us  which  they  now  had. 
fin  my  dealings  with  my  fellow  beings  I  have  often  noted 
| this  sort  of  thing — that  the  snobbishness  of  those  who 
{look  down  is  a  weak  and  hesitating  impulse  which  would 
'Soon  die  out  but  for  the  encouragement  it  gets  from  the 
i  snobbishness  of  those  who  look  up.     I  read  somewhere, 
"  Caste  is  made  by  those  who  look  up,  not  by  those  who 
look  down."    That  is  a  great  truth,  and  like  most  great, 
simple,  obvious  truths  is  usually  overlooked. 

87 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Looking  back  I  see  that  my  own  first  decisive  impulse 
toward  the  caste  feeling  came  that  day,  came  when  mj 
people  and  Edna's,  discovering  that  we  were  rich,  began 
to  treat  us  as  lower  class  treats  upper  class. 

My  mother  had  been  scrutinizing  me  for  signs  of 
the  rnaj  esty  of  wealth.  "  Why  don't  you  wear  a  beard, 
or  leastways  a  mustache,  Godfrey  ?  "  she  finally  inquired. 
"  Then  you  wouldn't  seem  so  boyish  like." 

"  I  used  to  wear  a  mustache,"  said  I,  "  but  I  cut  it 
off  because — I  don't  recall  why." 

In  fact  I  did  recall.  I  noted  one  day  that  I  had  a 
good  mouth  and  better  teeth  than  most  men  have.  And 
it  came  to  me  how  absurd  it  was  to  hang  a  bunch  of 
hair  from  my  upper  lip  to  trail  in  the  soup  and  to 
embalm  the  odors  of  past  cigars  for  the  discomfort  of 
my  nose.  Edna  kept  after  me  for  a  time  to  let  it  grow 
again.  But  reading  in  some  novel  she  regarded  as 
authoritative  that  mustaches  were  "  common,"  she  de 
sisted.  And  I  found  my  boyish  appearance  highly  use 
ful.  It  led  men  to  underestimate  me — a  signal  advan 
tage  in  the  contests  of  wit  against  wit  in  which  I  daily 
engaged  with  a  view  to  wrenching  a  fortune  for  myself 
away  from  my  fellow  men. 

My  mother  went  on  to  urge  me  to  make  my  face 
look  older  and  more  formidable.  Now  that  she  had 
learned  what  a  grand  person  I  was  she  feared  others 
would  not  realize  it.  Edna,  who,  as  I  have  said,  was 
shrewdness  personified  where  her  own  interests  were  in 
volved,  immediately  saw  the  dangerous  bearings  of  this 
newly  aroused  vanity  of  our  kin.  "  I  forgot  to  caution 
you,"  said  she,  "  not  to  mention  our  prosperity.  If  we 

88 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

were  talked  about  now,  it  might  be  lost  entirely.  The 
only  reason  Godfrey  and  I  came  to  you  so  soon  with 
the  news  of  it  was  because  we  wanted  to  do  something 
for  you  right  away.  And  we  knew  we  could  trust  you 
not  to  get  us  into  trouble.  Don't  talk  about  us.  If 
you  hear  people  talking,  if  they  ask  you  questions,  pre 
tend  you  don't  understand  and  don't  know.  You  see, 
it  may  be  spies  from  our  enemies." 

One  glance  round  that  circle  of  eager  faces  was 
enough  to  convince  that  Edna  had  made  precisely  the 
impression  she  desired.  I  could  see  that  my  mother 
and  old  Weeping  Willie,  the  shrewd  of  the  five — the  two 
to  whom  Edna  and  I  owed  most  by  inheritance — were 
prepared  to  deny  knowing  us  if  that  would  aid  in  safe 
guarding  the  precious  prosperity.  My  father  and  sister 
were  obviously  disappointed  that  they  could  not  go 
about  boasting  of  our  magnificence  and  getting  from 
the  neighbors  the  envy  and  respect  due  the  near  rela 
tions  of  a  plutocrat.  But  there  was  no  danger  of  their 
being  indiscreet ;  Edna  could  breathe  freely.  And  when 
the  two  families  were  tucked  away  in  the  midst  of  a 
large  and  secluded  farm,  she  could  tell  what  genealogical 
•tories  she  pleased  without  fear  of  being  confounded  by 
the  truth. 

By  three  o'clock  we  were  back  in  Brooklyn.  Edna 
felt  and  looked  triumphant.  The  crowning  of  the  day's 
work  had  been  small  but  significant.  A  heavy  rain 
atorm  that  came  up  while  we  were  on  the  way  back 
must  have  made  the  servants  think  we  had  cut  short 
our  woodland  outing.  As  we  were  going  to  bed  that 
night  Edna  roused  herself  from  deep  study  and  broke 

89 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  long  silence  with,  "  I  hesitated  whether  to  tell  them 
you  had  become  president  of  the  road." 

I  had  noted  that  seeming  slip  of  hers,  so  unlike  her 
cautious  reticence. 

"  Then  I  remembered  they'd  be  sure  to  see  it  in  the 
papers,"  continued  she.  "  And  I  decided  it  was  best  te 
tell  and  quiet  them." 

While  the  old  folks  were  industriously  settling  them 
selves  in  the  New  Jersey  woods —  Here  let  me  relieve 
my  mind  by  saying  a  few  words  in  mitigation  of  the 
unfilial  and  snobbish  conduct  of  Edna  and  me.  I  admit 
we  deserve  nothing  but  condemnation.  I  admit  I  am 
more  to  blame  than  she  because  I  could  have  compelled 
her  to  act  better  toward  our  families,  though  of  course 
I  could  not  have  changed  her  feelings — or  my  own,  for 
that  matter.  But,  as  often  happens  in  this  world,  the 
thing  that  was  in  motive  shameful  turned  out  well. 
We  and  our  families  had  grown  hopelessly  apart.  Inter 
course  with  them  could  not  but  have  been  embarrassing 
and  uncomfortable  for  both  sides.  When  we  got  them 
the  farm,  got  them  away  from  the  malarial  and  squalid 
part  of  Passaic  into  a  healthful  region  where  they  lived 
in  much  better  health  and  in  a  comfort  they  could  ap 
preciate,  we  did  the  best  possible  thing  for  them,  as  well 
as  for  ourselves.  Do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  be 
cause  I  am  ashamed  of  my  snobbish  motives  I  am  there 
fore  advocating  the  keeping  up  of  irksome  and  ab 
surd  ties  merely  out  of  wormy  sentimentality.  It 
has  always  seemed  to  me,  when  we  have  but  the  one 
chance  at  life,  the  one  chance  to  make  the  best  of  osr 

90 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

talents  and  opportunities,  that  only  moral  or  mental 
weakness,  or  both,  would  waste  the  one  chance  in  the 
bondage  of  outworn  ties.  When  one  has  outgrown  any 
association,  lop  it  off  relentlessly,  say  I.  If  the  living 
lets  the  dying  cling  to  it,  the  dying  does  not  live  but 
the  living  dies.  If  you  are  associated  with  anyone  in 
any  way — business,  social,  ties  of  affection,  whatever 
you  please — and  if  you  do  not  wish  to  lose  that  one, 
then  keep  yourself  alive  and  abreast  of  him  or  her. 
And  if  you  let  yourself  begin  to  decay  and  find  yourself 
cut  away,  whose  is  the  fault,  if  fault  there  be?  We — 
Edna  and  I — perhaps  did  not  do  all  we  might  to  make 
our  outgrown  families  happy ;  I  say  perhaps,  though 
I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  we  did  not  do  all  that  was 
in  our  power,  for  they  certainly  would  have  got  no 
pleasure  out  of  seeing  more  of  two  people  so  uncon 
genial  to  them  in  every  respect.  At  any  rate,  we  did 
not  leave  our  families  to  starve  or  to  suffer.  Hard 
though  my  charming,  lovely  wife  was,  I  cannot  conceive 
her  sinking  to  that  depth.  On  the  whole,  I  feel  that 
we  could  honestly  say  we  took  the  right  course  with 
them.  That  is,  we  helped  them  without  hindering  our 
selves.  We  did  the  right  thing,  though  not  in  the  right 
way. 

While  our  families  were  choosing  a  farm,  were  fixing 
up  the  buildings  to  suit  their  needs  and  tastes,  were 
moving  themselves  from  their  ancient  haunts,  Edna  was 
as  industriously  busy  making  far  deeper  inroads  on 
the  new  prosperity.  She  was  planning  the  conquest  of 
New  York. 

Every  day  in  the  year  many  a  suddenly  enriched 
91 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

family  is  busy  about  the  same  enterprise.  Families  from 
the  less  fashionable  parts  of  the  city  moving  to  the 
fashionable  parts.  Families  from  other  cities  and  towns 
— east,  west,  north,  and  south — advancing  to  social  con 
quest  under  the  leadership  of  mamas  and  daughters 
tired  of  shining  in  obscure,  monotonous,  and  unappre- 
ciative  places.  There  are  I  forget  how  many  thousands 
of  millionaires  on  Manhattan  Island;  enough,  I  know, 
with  the  near  millionaires  and  those  living  like  million 
aires,  to  make  a  city  of  three  or  four  hundred  thousand, 
not  including  servants  and  parasites.  Not  all  of  these 
have  the  fashionable  craze;  at  least,  they  haven't  it  in 
its  worst  form — the  form  in  which  it  possessed  my  wife. 
All  the  acute  sufferers  must  find  suitable  lodgments  near 
Fifth  Avenue  if  not  in  it. 

Now  New  York  is  ever  ready  to  receive  and  to 
"  trim  "  the  arriving  millionaire.  It  has  all  kinds  of 
houses  and  apartments  to  meet  the  peculiarities  of  his 
— or,  rather,  of  his  wife's  and  daughter's — notions  of 
grandeur.  It  has  a  multitude  of  purveyors  of  furnish 
ings  and  decorations  likewise  designed  to  catch  crude 
and  grandiose  tastes.  My  wife  was  busy  with  these 
gentry. 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  go  a  little  slow?  "  said 
I.  "  Why  not  live  in  a  hotel  on  Manhattan  and  look 
about  us  ?  " 

I  had  respect  for  my  wife's  capacity  at  the  woman 
side  of  the  game ;  she  had  thoroughly  drilled  me  to  more 
than  generous  appreciation  of  it.  But  at  the  same  time 
I  was  not  so  blinded  by  her  charm  for  me  or  so  convinced 
bj  her  insistent  and  plausible  egotism  that  I  had  not 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

noted  certain  minor  failures  of  hers  due  to  her  ignorance 
of  the  art  of  spending  money.  She  was  clever  at  learn 
ing.  But  often  her  vanity  lured  her  into  fancying  she 
knew,  when  in  fact  her  education  in  that  particular  di 
rection  was  all  miseducation.  She  dressed  much  more 
giddily  in  our  first  years  in  Brooklyn  than  she  did  after 
wards.  And  in  the  later  years  she  made  still  further 
discoveries  as  to  dress  that  resulted  in  another  revolu 
tion,  away  from  quietness,  not  toward  the  gaudy  but 
toward  smartness — that  curious  quality  which  makes  a 
woman's  toilet  conspicuous  without  the  least  suggestion 
of  the  loud. 

However,  Edna  scorned  my  suggestion  that  she 
make  haste  slowly.  She  had  long  been  engaged  in  a 
thorough  study  of  the  mode  of  life  in  millionairedom. 
Newspapers,  Sunday  supplements,  magazines,  and  so 
ciety  novels  had  helped  her.  She  had  examined  the 
exteriors  of  the  famous  palaces.  She  had  got  into  the 
drawing-rooms  and  ballrooms  of  two  or  three  palaces 
by  way  of  high-priced  charity  tickets.  She  had  in  one 
instance  roamed  into  sitting  rooms,  bedrooms,  bath 
rooms  until  caught  and  led  back  by  some  vigilant  and 
unbribable  servant.  I  wonder  if  she  ever  recalls  that 
adventure  now !  Probably  not.  I  think  I  have  recorded 
her  ability  absolutely  to  forget  whatever  it  pleases  her 
not  to  remember.  She  had  been  educating  herself,  so 
when  I  suggested  caution,  she  replied: 

"  Don't  you  fret,  Godfrey.  I  know  what  I'm  about. 
I'll  get  what  we've  got  to  have." 

And  I'll  concede  that  she  did — also,  that  I  thought 
it  overwhelmingly  grand  at  the  time.     It  was  a  house 
7  93 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

in  a  fashionable  side  street,  between  Madison  avenue 
and  Fifth — a  magnificent  house  built  for  exactly  such 
a  family  as  mine.  That  is,  it  was  built  entirely  for  show 
and  not  at  all  for  comfort ;  it  fairly  bristled  with  the 
luxuries  and  "  modern  conveniences,"  but  most  of  them 
were  of  the  sort  that  looks  comfortable  but  is  not.  The 
rent  was  some  preposterous  sum — thirty-five  or  forty 
thousand  a  year.  We  had  room  enough  for  the  housing 
of  nearly  a  hundred  people,  counting  servants  as  people, 
which  I  believe  is  not  the  custom.  It  was  fitted  through 
out  in  the  fashion  which  those  clever  leeches  who  think 
out  and  sell  luxuries  have  in  all  ages  imposed  upon  the 
rich  man  because  it  means  money  in  their  pockets. 
Once  in  a  while  you  find  a  rich  man  who  has  the  cour 
age  to  live  as  he  pleases,  but  most  of  them  live  as  the 
fashion  commands.  And  many  of  them  have  no  idea 
that  there  is  any  less  comfortless  and  less  foolish  way 
to  live.  You  imagine,  gentle  reader,  that  people  with 
money  live  in  beauty  and  comfort.  You  imagine  that 
you  could  do  it  also  if  you  had  but  the  wealth.  Believe 
me,  you  deceive  yourself.  Beyond  question  a  certain 
amount  of  money  is  necessary  to  the  getting  of  attract 
ive  and  comfortable  surroundings.  But  there  is  an 
other,  an  equally  indispensable  and  a  far  rarer  factor. 
That  factor,  gentle  reader,  is  intelligence — knowledge 
of  the  resources  of  civilization,  knowledge  of  the  reali 
ties  as  to  comfort,  luxury,  and  taste. 

I  am  tempted  to  linger  upon  the  details  of  the  ex 
travagance  of  that  first  big  establishment  of  Edna's. 
It  was  so  astounding  and  so  ridiculous.  I  saw  that  she 
had  delivered  us  and  our  fortune  over  to  hordes  of 

94 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

crafty,  thirsty  bloodsuckers — merchants,  tradesmen, 
servants.  But  her  heart  was  set  upon  it,  and  all  other 
rich  people  were  living  in  that  same  way.  "  You  want 
to  do  the  right  thing  by  Margot,  don't  you  ?  "  said  she. 

"  By  you  and  Margot,"  said  I.  "  Go  ahead.  I 
guess  I  can  find  the  money." 

I  shan't  here  go  into  the  ways  I  discovered  or  in 
vented  for  finding  that  money.  They  were  not  too 
scrupulous,  but  neither  were  they  commercially  dishon 
orable.  I  must  smile  there.  Being  of  an  inquiring  and 
jocose  mind  I  have  often  tried  to  find  an  action  that, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  most  eminent  commercial  authori 
ties,  was  absolutely  dishonorable.  Never  yet  have  I 
found  a  single  action,  however  wrong  and  even  criminal 
in  general,  that  they  would  not  declare  in  certain  cir 
cumstances  perfectly  honorable.  And  those  "  certain 
circumstances  "  could  always  be  boiled  down  to  the  one 
circumstance — needing  the  money. 

I  can't  recall  exactly  how  many  servants  we  had  to 
wait  on  us  two,  but  it  was  about  thirty-five.  I  remem 
ber  hearing  my  wife  say  one  month  that  our  meat  bill 
alone  was  about  a  thousand  dollars.  For  a  time  I  fan 
cied  we  were  living  more  grandly  than  anyone  else  in 
town.  But  it  soon  revealed  itself  to  me  that,  as  things 
went  with  "  our  class,"  we  were  leading  rather  a  simple 
life.  Certainly  nothing  we  did  marked  us  out  from  the 
others  in  that  region.  The  sum  totals  suggested  that 
servants  stood  at  the  front  windows  all  day  long  tossing 
money  into  the  street.  But  nothing  of  the  kind  occurred. 
You  would  have  said  we  ate  the  finest  food  in  wholesale 
quantities.  Yet  never  did  I  get  a  notably  good  meal  at 

95 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

my  own  house.  The  coffee  was  always  poor.  The  fruit 
was  below  the  average  of  sidewalk  stands.  We  often 
had  cold-storage  fowls  and  fish  on  the  table.  We  paid 
for  the  best ;  I'm  sure  we  paid  for  it  many  times  over. 
We  got — what  one  always  gets  when  the  wife  is  too 
intellectual  and  too  busy  to  attend  to  her  business.  But 
I  assure  you  it  was  grandly  served.  The  linen  and  the 
dishes  were  royal,  the  servants  were  in  liveries  of  im 
pressive  color  and  form — though  I  could  have  wished 
that  my  wife  had  been  as  sensitive  to  odors  as  I  was, 
and  had  compelled  some  of  those  magnificent  gentry  to 
do  a  little  bathing.  Throughout  the  establishment  the 
same  superb  scale  was  maintained.  We  lived  like  the 
rest  of  the  millionaires,  neither  better  nor  worse.  We 
lived  in  grandeur  and  discomfort.  But  my  wife  was 
ecstatic,  and  I  was  therefore  content.  Yes,  we  were  very 
grand.  And,  as  in  Brooklyn,  the  glasses  came  to  the 
table  with  a  certain  sour  odor  not  alluring  as  you  lifted 
them  to  drink — the  odor  that  causes  an  observant  man 
or  woman  to  say,  "  Aha — dirty  rags  in  this  perfect 
lady's  kitchen — dirty  rags  and  all  that  goes  with  them." 
But  only  a  snarling  'cynic  would  complain  of  these  vul 
gar  trifles.  There's  always  at  least  a  fly  leg  in  the 
ointment. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  knew  what  I  was  about  ?  "  said 
Edna  triumphantly. 

"  You  did,"  said  I. 

"  Haven't  we  got  what  we  wanted  ?  " 

"  We  have,"  said  I,  perhaps  somewhat  abruptly,  for 
I  was  just  then  wondering  how  the  devil  we  were  going 
to  keep  it. 

96 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,"  proceeded  she,  "  we'd 
still  be  living  in  Brooklyn!  " 

"  Or  in  Passaic,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  speak  of  Passaic,"  she  cried.  "  I'm  trying 
to  forget  it." 

"  We  were  very  happy  then,"  said  I. 

"  /  was  miserable,"  retorted  she. 

"  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  wish  we  weren't  al 
ways  attended  by  servants/'  said  I.  "  I  almost  never 
see  you  alone." 

"  What  a  bourgeois  you  are,"  laughed  she.  Then 
— after  a  thorough  glance  round  to  make  sure  house 
keeper  or  maid  or  lackey  wasn't  on  watch — she  patted 
my  cheek  and  kissed  me,  and  added :  "  But  you  do  make 
me  happy.  I'm  so  proud  of  you!  No  matter  what  I 
want  I'm  never  afraid  to  buy  it,  for  I  know  you  can 
get  all  the  money  you  want  to." 

I  winced.  Said  I :  "  I'm  afraid  you'd  not  be  proud 
of  some  of  the  ways  I  get  the  money." 

She  frowned.  "  Don't  talk  business,  please,"  she 
said.  "  \  ou  know  we  never  have  in  all  our  married  life. 
You've  always  respected  my  position  as  your  wife.  All 
business  is  low — is  mere  sordidness." 

"  Yes,  it's  all  low,"  said  I.  "  Sometimes  I  think  all 
living  is  low  as  well.  Edna  " — I  put  my  arm  round  her 
— "  don't  you  ever  feel  that  we'd  be  really  happy,  that 
we'd  get  something  genuine  out  of  life — if  you  and 
Margot  and  I •" 

She  stopped  my  mouth  with  a  kiss.  "  You  never 
will  grow  up  to  your  station,  darling." 

I  said  no  more.  Indeed,  it  was  on  hastiest  impulse 
97 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

that  I  had  said  so  much,  an  impulse  sprung  from  a 
mood  of  depression. 

The  cause  of  that  mood  was  a  nasty  reverse  in  Wall 
Street.  It  had  rudely  halted  me  in  my  triumphant  way 
toward  the  security  of  the  man  of  many  millions.  It 
had  set  me  to  wavering  uncertainly,  with  the  chances 
about  even  for  resuming  the  march  and  for  tumbling 
into  the  abyss  of  a  discreditable  bankruptcy. 

There  are  in  New  York  two  well-defined  classes  of 
the  rich — the  permanently  rich  and  the  precariously 
rich.  The  permanently  rich  are  those  who  by  the  vast- 
ness  of  their  wealth  or  by  the  strength  of  their  business 
and  social  connections  cannot  possibly  be  dislodged 
from  the  plutocracy.  The  precariously  rich  are  those 
who  have  much  money  and  are  making  more,  but  are 
not  strong  enough  to  survive  a  series  of  typhoons, 
and  are  without  the  support  of  indissoluble  business 
,and  social  connections.  My  friend  G ,  for  exam 
ple,  head  of  the  famous  banking  house,  associated  in 
business  and  by  marriage  with  half  the  permanent  plu 
tocracy,  was  practically  bankrupt  in  the  late  panic. 
Had  he  been  a  man  of  ordinary  position  he  would  have 
gone  into  bankruptcy,  and,  I  more  than  suspect,  into 
jail.  But  his  fellow  plutocrats  dared  not  let  him  drop, 
much  as  they  would  have  liked  to  see  his  arrogance 
brought  low,  much  as  they  longed  to  divide  among  them 
selves  his  holdings  of  gilt-edged  securities;  if  he  had 
gone  down  it  would  have  made  the  whole  financial  world 
tremble.  He  was  saved.  On  the  other  hand,  my  friend 

J ,  richer  actually,  was  ruined,  was  plucked  by  his 

.associates,  was  finally  jailed  for  doing  precisely  the 

98 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

things  every  man  of  finance  did  over  and  over  again 
in  that  same  period  of  stress — for,  what  invariably  hap 
pens  to  moral  codes  in  periods  of  stress? 

I  was  at  that  time — but  not  now,  gentle  reader,  so 
cheer  up  and  read  on — I  was  at  that  time  in  the  class 
not  of  the  permanently  but  of  the  precariously  rich. 
And  through  a  miscalculation  I  had  laid  myself  open  to 
the  dangers  that  lie  in  wait  for  the  man  short  of  ready 
cash.  The  miscalculation  was  as  to  the  extravagance 
of  my  wife's  undertakings.  She,  against  my  express  re 
quest,  had  contracted  without  consulting  or  telling  me 
several  enormous  bills.  It  is  idle  to  say  she  ought  not 
have  done  this.  I  knew  her  well ;  I  should  have  been  on 
guard.  I  had  begun  my  married  life  wrong,  as  the 
young  man  very  much  in  love  is  apt  to  do ;  so,  to  hold 
her  love  and  liking,  I  had  to  keep  on  giving  her  taste 
for  spending  money  free  rein.  If  I  had  not,  she  would 
have  thought  me  small  and  mean,  would  have  made  life 
at  home  exceedingly  uncomfortable  for  me,  for  I  am 
not  of  those  men  who  can  take  from  a  woman  what 
they  wish  whether  she  wishes  to  give  or  not.  So  the 
whole  fault  was  mine.  When  the  storm  broke,  in  the 
light  of  its  first  terrific  flash  that  illuminated  for  me 
every  part  of  my  affairs,  I  discovered  that  I  was  not 
prepared  as  I  had  been  imagining.  The  big  bills  of 
my  wife  were  presented,  for  the  merchants  knew  I  was 
heavily  interested  in  the  stocks  that  were  tobogganing. 
Those  bills  had  to  be  paid,  and  paid  at  once,  or  it 
would  run  like  wildfire  uptown  and  down  that  I  was  in 
difficulties ;  and  when  a  man  is  known  to  be  in  financial 
difficulties,  how  the  birds  and  beasts  of  prey  from  eagles 

99 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

and  lions  to  buzzards  and  jackals  do  come  flapping  and 
loping ! 

There  followed  several  anxious  days  and  nights.  On 
one  of  those  nights  I  rose  from  beside  my  wife — we  still 
slept  together — and  went  into  the  adjoining  room.  I 
turned  on  an  electric  light  and  began  for  the  thousandth 
time,  I  dare  say,  to  look  at  the  critical  papers  and  to 
grope  for  the  desperate  "  way  out."  I  was  startled  by 
my  wife's  voice — sleepy,  peevish: 

"  Do  turn  out  that  light  and  come  to  bed,  God 
frey.  You  know  how  it  disturbs  me  for  you  to  get  up 
in  the  night.  And  I've  such  a  hard  day  before  me  to 
morrow  with  the  upholsterers  and  curtain  people." 

I  obediently  turned  off  the  light.  As  I  was  about 
to  throw  myself  into  bed  and  draw  the  covers  over  me, 
a  broad  beam  from  the  moon  flooded  the  face  of  a  por 
trait  on  the  opposite  wall — the  face  of  my  daughter 
Margot.  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  looked  at 
that  face — pure,  sweet,  with  the  same  elevated  expres 
sion  her  mother  had  in  these  days  of  refinement  and 
climbing.  Said  I  to  Edna : 

"  Are  you  asleep,  dear?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered  crossly.  6f  I'm  waiting  for  you 
to  quiet  down." 

"  Then — let  me  talk  to  you  a  few  minutes." 

66  Oh,  please !  "  she  cried,  flinging  herself  to  the  far 
edge  of  the  bed.  "  You  have  no  consideration  for  me — 
none  at  all." 

"  Listen,"  I  said.     "  I'm  face  to  face  with  ruin." 

She  did  not  move  or  speak,  but  I  could  feel  her 
intense  attention. 

100 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  If  I  let  matters  take  their  course  I  can  save  my 
reputation  and  my  official  position.  But  for  many 
years  we'll  have  to  live  quietly — about  as  we  did  in 
Brooklyn." 

"  I  can't  do  that,"  cried  she.  "  The  fall  would  kill 
me.  You  know  how  proud  I  am.  .  .  .  Just  as  I  had 
everything  ready  for  us  to  get  into  society!  Godfrey, 
how  could  you!  And  I  thought  you  were  clever  at 
business." 

I  could  not  see  her,  nor  she  me,  except  in  dimmest 
outline.  I  said :  "  But  we'd  have  each  other  and  Mar- 
got.  And  my  salary  isn't  so  small,  as  salaries  go." 

"  Isn't  there  any  way  to  avoid  it?  "  She  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  her  nervous  fingers  upon  my  arm.  "  You 
must  think,  Godfrey.  You  mustn't  play  Margot  and 
me  this  horrible  trick.  You  mustn't  give  up  so  easily. 
You  must  think — think — think!  " 

"  I  have,"  said  I.  "  I've  not  slept  for  three  days 
and  nights.  There's  no  way — no  honest  way." 

"  Then  there  is  a  way !  "  she  cried. 

"  But  not  an  honest  one." 

She  laughed  scornfully.  "  And  you  pretend  to  love 
me !  When  my  life  and  Margot's  happiness  are  at  stake 
you  talk  like  a  Sunday-school  boy." 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  And  I've  been  thinking  more  or 
less  that  way  lately  for  the  first  time  in  years.  It  wasn't 
long  after  I  started  when  I  cut  my  business  eye  teeth. 
I  found  out  that  as  the  game  lay  I'd  not  get  far  if  I 
stuck  to  the  old  maxims  of  the  copy  book  and  the  Sun 
day  school.  Except  by  accident  nobody  ever  got  rich 
who  followed  them.  To  get  rich  you've  got  to  make 

101 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  lot   of  people  work  for  you   and  work  cheap,  and 

you've  got  to  sell  what  they  make  as  dear  as  you  can. 

('Success  in  business  means  taking  advantage  of  the  ig- 

Jnorance  or  the  necessities  of  your  fellow  men,  or  both." 

"  Don't  waste  time  talking  that  kind  of  nonsense," 
said  she  impatiently.  "  It  doesn't  mean  anything  to 
me — or  to  anybody,  I  guess.  The  thing  for  you  to  do 
is  to  put  your  mind  on  the  real  thing — how  to  save  your 
family  and  yourself." 

"  That's  what  I'm  talking  about,"  said  I.  "  I'm 
talking  about  saving  myself  and  my  family.  As  I  told 
you,  my  troubles — the  first  business  troubles  I've  ever 
had — have  set  me  to  thinking.  I've  not  been  doing 
right  all  these  years.  It's  true,  everybody  does  as  I've 
been  doing.  It's  true  I've  been  more  generous  and 
more  considerate  .than  most  men  with  opportunities  and 
the  sense  to  see  them.  But  I've  been  doing  wrong." 

I  paused,  hoping  for  some  sign  of  sympathy.  None 
came.  I  went  on : 

"  And  I've  been  wondering  these  last  few  days  if  by 
doing  it  I  haven't  been  ruining  myself  and  my  family 
• — not  financially,  but  in  more  important  ways.  Edna, 
what's  the  sense  in  this  life  we're  leading?  What  will 
be  the  end  of  it  all?  Is  there  any  decency  or  happiness 
in  it?  Haven't  we  been  going  backward  instead  of 
forward  ?  " 

All  the  time  I  was  talking  I  could  feel  she  was  not 
listening.  When  I  finished  she  said :  "  Godfrey,  what  is 
this  way  you  can  escape  by  ?  " 

"  I  can  sell  out  my  partners  in  the  deals  that  have 
gone  bad." 

102 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Perhaps  they're  selling  you  out,"  she  instantly 
suggested.  "  Why,  of  course  they  are  doing  that  very 
thing ! — while  you  are  driveling  about  honesty  like  a 
backwoods  hypocrite  of  a  church  deacon." 

"  No,  they're  not  selling  me  out,"  said  I. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  cried  she. 

"  I  caught  them  at  that  trick  in  a  former  deal  and 
in  the  early  stages  of  this  one.  And  I  fixed  things  so 
that,  while  they  have  to  trust  me,  I  don't  trust  them." 

She  laughed  mockingly.  "  Godfrey,  I  think  your 
mind  must  be  going.  You  talking  about  sacrificing 
your  fortune  and  your  wife  and  your  child  for  men 
who've  tried  to  ruin  you — men  who  are  even  now  think 
ing  out  some  scheme  for  doing  it.  ...  Suppose  you 
saved  yourself  and  let  them  go — what  then  ?  Wouldn't 
you  be  rich?  And  when  you  were  secure  again  couldn't 
you  pay  them  back  what  they  lost  if  you  were  still 
foolish  enough  to  think  it  necessary  ?  " 

It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  astonished  me  with 
the  depth  of  her  practical  insight — and  her  skill  at 
logic — when  she  cared  to  use  her  mind.  "  I»  had  thought 
of  saving  myself  and  paying  back  afterwards,"  said  I. 
"  But  I'm  not  sure  I'd  save  myself.  It's  simply  my  one 
chance." 

"  Then  you've  got  to  take  that  chance,"  said  she. 

"  I  didn't  expect  you  to  talk  like  this,"  said  I, 
"  The  only  reason  I  haven't  spoken  of  my  troubles  be 
fore  was  that  I  feared  you'd  forbid  me  to  do  what  I  was 
being  tempted  to  do." 

And  that  was  the  truth  about  my  feeling.  I  had 
always  heard — and  had  firmly  believed — that  woman 

103 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

was  somehow  the  exemplar  of  ideal  morality,  that  it 
was  she  who  kept  men  from  being  worse  than  they  were, 
that  the  evil  being  done  by  men  pursuing  success  was 
done  without  the  knowledge  of  their  pure,  idealist  wives 
and  mothers  and  daughters.  I  can't  account  for  my 
stupidity  in  this  respect.  Had  I  not  on  every  side  the 
spectacle  that  gave  the  lie  to  the  shallow  pretense  of 
feminine  moral  superiority?  Was  it  not  the  women, 
with  their  insatiable  appetite  for  luxury  and  splurge; 
was  it  not  the  women,  with  their  incessant  demands  for 
money  and  ever  more  money;  was  it  not  the  women, 
with  their  profound  immorality  of  any  and  every  class 
that  earns  nothing  and  simply  spends ;  was  it  not  the 
women,  the  ladies,  who  were  edging  on  the  men  to  get 
money,  no  matter  how?  For  whom  were  the  grand 
houses,  the  expensive  hotels,  the  exorbitant  flimsy  cloth 
ing,  the  costly  jewelry,  the  equipages,  the  opera  boxes, 
the  senseless,  spendthrift  squandering  upon  the  degrad 
ing  vanities  of  social  position? 

I  laughed  somewhat  cynically.  "  No  wonder  you've 
always  refused  to  learn  anything  about  business,"  said 
I.  "  It's  a  habit  among  big  business  men  to  refuse  to 
know  anything  as  to  the  details  of  a  large  transaction 
that  can  be  carried  through  only  by  dirty  work.  If 
we  don't  know,  we  can  pretend  that  the  dirty  work  isn't 
being  done  by  or  for  us — isn't  being  done  at  all." 

"  Now  you  are  getting  coarse,"  said  my  wife.  "  Do 
you  know  what  I  think  of  you?  "  I  could  not  see  her 
expression,  but  the  voice  always  betrays  if  there  is  in 
sincerity,  because  we  do  not  deal  enough  with  the  blind 
to  learn  to  deceive  perfectly  with  the  voice.  Her  tones 

104 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

were  absolutely  sincere  as  she  answered  her  own  ques 
tion  :  "  I  think  it  is  cowardly  of  you  to  come  to  me  with 
your  business  troubles.  If  you  were  brave  you'd  simply 
have  quietly  done  whatever  was  necessary  to  save  your 
family.  Yes,  it  is  cowardly !  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  as  cowardice,"  said  I,  admiring 
but  irritated  by  this  characteristic  adroitness.  "  In  the 
stories  and  the  plays  that  give  such  thrills,  the  husband, 
in  the  crisis  and  tempted  to  do  wrong,  appeals  to  his 
wife.  And  they  are  brought  closer  together,  and  she 
helps  him  to  do  right,  and  everything  ends  happily." 
Again  I  laughed  good-humoredly.  "  It  doesn't  seem 
to  be  turning  out  that  way,  does  it,  dear?  My  heavenly 
picture  of  you  and  Margot  and  me  living  modestly  and 
making  up  in  love  what  we  lack  in  luxury — it  doesn't 
attract  you?  " 

She  said  in  her  patient,  superior  tone:  "  I  suppose 
you  never  will  understand  me  or  my  ideals.  What 
you've  been  doing  in  annoying  me  with  your  business, 
it's  as  if  when  I  was  giving  a  dinner  I  assembled  my 
guests  and  compelled  them  to  watch  all  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  dinner — the  killing  of  the  lambs  and  the 
fish  and  the  birds,  the  cleaning,  all  those  ugly  and  low 
things.  Bringing  business  into  the  home  and  the  social 
life,  it's  like  bringing  the  kitchen  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

The  obvious  answer  to  this  shallow  but  plausible  and 
attractive  cleverness  of  hers  did  not  come  to  me  then. 
If  it  had  I'd  not  have  spoken  it.  For  of  what  use  to 
argue  with  the  human  animal,  female  or  male,  about  its 
dearest  selfishnesses  and  vanities  ?  Of  what  use  to  point 

105 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

out  to  human  self-complacence,  greediness  and  hypoc 
risy  that  a  "  refined  "  and  "  cultured  "  existence  of  ease 
and  luxury  can  be  obtained  only  by  the  theft  and  mur 
der  of  dishonest  business — that  for  one  man  to  be  vastly 
rich  thousands  of  men  must  somehow  be  robbed  and 
oppressed,  even  though  the  rich  man  himself  directly 
does  no  robbing  and  oppressing?  If  I  have  sucking 
pig  for  dinner,  I  kill  sucking  pig  as  surely  as  if  my 
hand  wielded  the  knife  of  the  butcher.  But  the  human 
race  finds  it  convenient  and  comfortable  not  to  think  so. 
Therefore,  let  us  not  bother  our  heads  about  it. 

At  that  period  of  my  career  I  had  not  thought  things 
out  so  thoroughly  as  I  have  since — in  these  days  when 
events  have  compelled  me  to  open  my  eyes  and  to  see. 
In  my  hypocrisy,  in  my  eagerness  to  save  myself,  I  was 
not  loth  to  take  refuge  behind  the  advice  given  by  my 
wife  partly  in  genuine  ignorance  of  business,  partly  in 
pretended  ignorance  of  it. 

Said  I:  "  I  suppose  you're  right.  I  ought  to  think 
only  of  my  family.  Heaven  knows,  my  rascal  friends 
aren't  thinking  in  my  interest.  If  I  don't  do  it,  no  one 
will.  There's  no  disputing  that — eh  ?  " 

No  reply.  She  was  asleep — or,  rather,  was  pretend 
ing  to  be  asleep.  The  matter  had  been  settled,  why  dis 
cuss  it  further?  Why  expose  herself  longer  than  un 
avoidable  to  the  danger  of  being  unable  to  be,  or  to 
pretend  to  be,  ignorant  of  business,  of  the  foundation 
upon  which  her  splendid,  cultured  structure  of  ambition 
proudly  reared? 

Often  in  her  sleep  her  hand  would  seek  mine,  and 
when  it  was  comfortably  nestled  she  would  give  a  little 

106 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sigh  of  content  that  thrilled  me  through  and  through. 
Her  hand  now  stole  into  mine  and  the  sigh  of  content 
came  softly  from  her  lips.  "  My  love,"  I  murmured, 
kissing  her  cheek  before  I  lay  down.  How  could  I  for 
a  minute  have  considered  any  course  that  would  have 
made  her  unhappy,  that  might  have  lessened,  perhaps 
destroyed,  her  love  for  me  ? 


IV 


IT  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  I  threw  overboard 
my  partners  and  saved  myself.  Indeed,  I  emerged  from 
the  crisis — liberally  bespattered  with  mud,  it  is  true — 
but  richer  than  when  I  entered  it.  Since  I  was  doing 
the  act  that  was  the  supreme  proof  of  my  possessing  the 
courage  and  the  skill  for  leadership  in  business — since  I 
was  definitely  breaking  with  the  old-fashioned  morality— 
I  felt  it  was  the  part  of  wisdom  to  do  the  thing  so 
thoroughly,  so  profitably,  that  instead  of  being  exe 
crated  I  should  be  admired.  There  were  attacks  on  me 
in  the  newspapers ;  there  were  painful  interviews  with 
my  partners — not  so  painful  to  me  as  they  would  have 
been  had  I  not  been  able  to  remind  them  of  their  own 
unsuccessful  treacheries  and  to  enforce  the  spoken  re 
minder  with  the  documentary  proof.  But  on  the  whole 
I  came  off  excellently  well — as  who  does  not  that  "  gets 
away  with  the  goods  ?  " 

In  these  days  of  increased  intelligence  and  consequent 
lessened  hypocrisy,  the  big  business  man  is  the  object  of 
only  perfunctory  hypocrisies  from  outraged  morality. 
It  has  been  discovered  that  the  farmer  watering  his  milk 
or  the  grocer  using  solder-"  mended  "  scales  is  as  bad 
as  the  man  who  "  reorganizes  "  a  railway  or  manipulates 

108 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  stock — is  worse  actually  because  the  massed  mis 
chief  of  the  million  little  business  rascals  is  greater  than 
the  sensational  misdeeds  of  the  few  great  rascals.  It 
been  discovered  that  human  nature  is  good  or  bad 
mly  according  to  the  opportunities  and  necessities,  not 
according  to  abstract  moral  standards.  And  the  cry  I 
is  no  longer,  "  Kill  the  scoundrel,"  but,  "  That  fellow  i 
had  the  sense  to  outwit  us.  We  must  learn  from  him 
how  to  sharpen  our  wits  so  that  we  won't  let  ourselves 
be  robbed."  A  healthful  sign  this,  that  masses  of  men 
are  ceasing  from  twaddle  about  vague  ideals  and  are 
educating  themselves  in  practical  horse  sense.  It  may 
be  that  some  day  the  honest  husbandman  will  learn  to 
guard  his  granary  not  only  against  the  robber  with 
the  sack  in  the  dark  of  the  morn,  but  also  against  the 
rats  and  mice  who  pilfer  ten  bushels  to  every  one  that 
is  stolen.  Of  one  thing  I  am  certain — until  men  learn 
to  take  heed  in  the  small,  they  will  remain  easy  prey  in 
the  large. 

Far  from  doing  me  harm,  my  bold  stroke  was  of 
the  greatest  benefit — from  the  standpoint  of  material 
success,  and  that  is  the  only  point  of  view  I  am  here 
considering.  It  did  me  as  much  good  with  the  world  as 
it  has  done  me  with  you,  gentle  reader.  For  while  you 
are  exclaiming  against  my  wickedness  you  are  in  your 
secret  heart  confessing  that  if  I  had  chosen  the  ideally 
honest  course,  had  retired  to  obscurity  and  poverty, 
you  would  have  approved — and  would  have  lost  interest 
in  me.  Why,  if  I  had  chosen  that  ideal  course,  I  doubt 
not  I  should  have  lost  my  railway  position.  My  direct 
ors  would  have  waxed  enthusiastic  over  my  "  old-fash- 
8  109 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ioned  honesty,"  and  would  have  looked  round  for  an 
other  and  shrewder  and  stronger  man  to  whom  to 
intrust  the  management  of  their  railway — which  would 
not  pay  dividends  were  it  run  along  the  lines  of  old- 
fashioned  honesty.  The  outburst  of  denunciation  soon 
spent  itself,  like  a  summer  storm  beating  the  giant  cliffs 
of  a  mountain.  Of  what  use  to  rage  futilely  against 
my  splendid  immovable  fortune?  The  attacks,  the  talk 
about  my  bold  stroke,  the  exaggerations  of  the  size 
of  the  fortune  I  had  made,  all  served  to  attract  at 
tention  to  me,  to  make  me  a  formidable  and  an  inter 
esting  figure.  I  leaped  from  obscurity  into  fame  and 
power — and  I  had  the  money  to  maintain  the  position 
I  had  won. 

Long  before,  indeed  as  soon  as  we  moved  to  Man 
hattan,  my  wife  had  joined  fashionable  and  exclusive 
Holy  Cross  Church  and  had  plunged  straightway  into 
its  charity  work.  A  highly  important  part  of  her 
Brooklyn  education  had  been  got  in  St.  Mary's,  in 
learning  how  to  do  charity  work  and  how  to  make  it 
count  socially.  Edna  genuinely  loved  charity  work. 
She  loved  to  patronize,  loved  to  receive  those  fawning 
blessings  and  handkissings  which  city  poverty  becomes 
adept  at  giving  the  rich  it  lives  off  of.  The  poor  fam 
ily  understands  perfectly  that  the  rich  visit  and  help 
not  through  mere  empty  sentimental  nonsense  of 
brotherhood,  but  to  have  their  vanities  tickled  in  ex 
change  for  the  graciousness  of  their  condescending 
presence  and  for  the  money  they  lay  out.  As  the  poor 
want  the  money  and  have  no  objection  to  paying  for  it 

110 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  that  cheap  and  plentiful  commodity,  cringing — 
scantily  screening  mockery  and  contempt — rich  and 
poor  meet  most  comfortably  in  our  cities.  Not  New 
York  alone,  but  any  center  of  population,  for  human 
nature  is  the  same,  city  and  country,  San  Francisco, 
Bangor — Pekin  or  Paris,  for  that  matter. 

There  is  a  shallow  fashion  of  describing  this  or  that 
as  peculiarly  New  York,  usually  snobbishness  or  domes 
tic  unhappiness  or  wealth  worship,  dishonest  business 
men  or  worthless  wives.  It  is  time  to  have  done  with 
such  nonsense.  New  York  is  in  no  way  peculiar,  nor  is 
any  other  place,  beyond  trifling  surface  differences. 
New  York  is  nothing  but  the  epitome  of  the  whole  coun 
try,  just  as  Chicago  is.  If  you  wish  to  understand 
America,  study  New  York  or  Chicago,  our  two  universal 
cities.  There  you  find  in  one  place  and  in  admirable 
perspective  a  complete  museum  of  specimens  of  what  is 
scattered  over  three  and  a  half  million  square  miles. 
For,  don't  forget,  New  York  is  not  the  few  blocks  of 
fashionable  district  alone.  It  is  four  million  people  of 
all  conditions,  tastes,  and  activities.  And  the  domi 
nant  force  of  struggle  for  money  and  fashion  is  no  more 
dominant  in  New  York  than  it  is  in  the  rest  of  America. 
New  York  is  more  truly  representative  of  America  than 
is  Chicago,  for  in  Chicago  the  Eastern  and  Southern  ele 
ments  are  lacking  and  the  Western  element  is  strong 
out  of  proportion. 

I  was  telling  of  my  wife's  blossoming  as  Lady  Boun 
tiful  in  search  not  of  a  heavenly  crown,  but  of  what 
human  Lady  Bountiful  always  seeks — social  position. 
Charity  covers  a  multitude  of  sins ;  the  greatest  of  them 

111 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

¥is  hypocrisy.     I  have  yet  to  see  a  charitable  man  or 
woman  or  child  whose  chief  and  only  noteworthy  object 

,was  not  self-glorification.  The  people  who  believe  inj 
brotherhood  do  not  go  in  for  charity.  They  wish  toj 
abolish  poverty,  whereas  charity  revels  in  poverty  andr 
seeks  to  increase  it,  to  change  it  from  miserable  poverty 
which  might  die  into  comfortable  pauperism  which  can 
live  on,  and  fester  and  breed  on,  and  fawn  on  and  give 
vanity  ever  more  and  more  exquisite  titillations.  Holy 
Cross,  my  wife's  new  spiritual  guide,  was  past  master 
of  the  pauper-making  and  pauper-utilizing  arts.  Its 
rector  and  his  staff  of  slimy  sycophants  had  the  small 
standing  army  of  its  worthy  poor  trained  to  perfection. 
When  my  wife  went  down  among  them,  she  returned 
home  with  face  aglow  and  eyes  heavenly.  What  a  treat 
those  wretches  had  given  her !  And  in  the  first  blush  of 
her  enthusiasm  she  dispensed  lavishly,  where  the  older 

^members  of  the  church  exacted  the  full  measure  of  titil- 
lation  for  every  dollar  invested  and  awarded  extra  sums 

jonly  to  some  novelty  in  lickspittling  or  toadeating. 

Were  I  not  sure  I  should  quite  wear  out  the  for 
bearance  of  gentle  reader,  I  should  linger  to  describe 
this  marvelous  charity  plant  for  providing  idle  or  social- 
position-hunting  rich  women  with  spiritual  pleasures — 
I  had  almost  said  debaucheries,  but  that  would  be  in 
truding  my  private  and  perhaps  prejudiced  opinion. 
I  have  no  desire  to  irritate,  much  less  shake  the  faith 
of,  those  who  believe  in  Holy  Cross  and  its  "  uplift  " 
work.  And  I  don't  suppose  Holy  Cross  does  any  great 
amount  of  harm.  The  poor  who  prostitute  themselves 
to  its  purposes  are  weak  things,  beyond  redemption. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

As  for  the  rich  who  waste  time  and  money  there,  would 
they  not  simply  waste  elsewhere  were  there  no  Holy 
Cross  ? 

My  wife  was,  at  that  time,  a  very  ignorant  woman, 
thinly  covered  with  a  veneer  of  what  I  now  know  was  a 
rather  low  grade  of  culture.  That  veneer  impressed 
me.  It  had  impressed  our  Brooklyn  friends  of  St. 
Mary's.  But  I  fancy  it  must  have  looked  cheap  to 
expert  eyes.  Where  her  surpassing  shrewdness  showed 
itself  was  in  that  she  herself  recognized  her  own  short 
comings.  Rare  and  precious  is  the  vanity  that  com 
forts  and  sustains  without  self-deception.  She  knew 
she  wasn't  the  real  thing,  knew  she  had  not  yet  got 
hold  of  the  real  thing.  And  when  she  began  to  move 
about,  cautiously  and  quietly,  in  Holy  Cross,  she  real 
ized  that  at  last  she  was  in  the  presence  of  the  real  thing. 

My  big  responsibilities,  my  associations  in  finance, 
had  been  giving  me  a  superb  training  in  worldly  wis 
dom.  I  think  I  had  almost  as  strong  a  natural  apti 
tude  for  "  catching  on  "  to  the  better  thing  in  speech 
and  manner  and  in  dress  as  had  Edna.  It  is  not  self- 
flattery  for  me  to  say  that  up  to  the  Holy  Cross  period 
I  was  further  advanced  than  she.  Certainly  I  ought 
to  have  been,  for  a  man  has  a  much  better  opportunity 
than  a  woman,  and  one  of  the  essentials  of  equipment 
for  great  affairs  is  ability  to  observe  accurately  the  lit 
tle  no  less  than  the  large.  Looking  back,  I  recall  things 
which  lead  me  to  suspect  that  Edna  saw  my  superiority 
in  certain  matters  most  important  to  her,  and  was  irri 
tated  by  it.  However  that  may  be,  a  few  months  in. 
Holy  Cross  and  she  had  grasped  the  essentials  of  the 

113 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

social  art  as  I,  or  any  other  masculine  man,  never  could 
grasp  it.  And  her  veneer  of  "  middle-class  "  culture 
disappeared  under  a  thick  and  enduring  coating  of  the 
best  New  York  manner. 

"  What  has  become  of  you?  "  I  said  to  her.  "  I 
haven't  seen  you  in  weeks." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  she,  ruffling  as  she  al 
ways  did  when  she  suspected  me  of  indulging  in  my 
coarse  and  detestable  sense  of  humor. 

"  Why,  you  don't  act  like  yourself  at  all,"  said  I. 
"  Even  when  we're  alone  you  give  the  uncomfortable 
sense  of  dressed-up — not  as  if  you  were  *  dressed-up,' 
but  as  if  /  were.  I  feel  like  a  plowboy  before  a 
princess." 

She  was  delighted ! 

"  You,"  I  went  on,  "  are  now  exactly  like  the  rest  of 
those  women  in  Holy  Cross.  I  suppose  it's  all  right  to 
look  and  talk  and  act  that  way  before  people.  At  least, 
I've  no  objection  if  it  pleases  you.  But  for  heaven's 
sake,  Edna,  don't  spoil  our  privacy  with  it.  The  queen 
doesn't  wear  her  coronation  robes  all  the  time." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  she. 

"  Don't  you?  "  cried  I,  laughing.  "  What  a  charm 
ing  fraud  you  are !  "  And  I  seized  her  in  my  arms  and 
kissed  her.  And  she  seemed  to  yield  and  to  return  my 
caresses.  But  I  was  uncomfortable.  She  would  not 
drop  that  new  manner.  The  incident  seems  trifling 
enough;  perhaps  it  was  trifling.  But  it  stands  out  in 
my  memory.  It  marks  the  change  in  our  relationship. 
I  recall  it  all  distinctly — how  she  looked,  how  young  and 
charming  and  cold,  what  she  was  wearing,  the  delicate 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

simple  dress  that  ought  to  have  made  her  most  alluring 
to  me,  yet  made  me  feel  as  if  she  were  indeed  alluring, 
but  not  for  me.  A  subtle  difference  there,  but  abysmal ; 
the  difference  between  the  woman  who  tries  to  make  her 
self  attractive  for  the  sake  of  her  husband  and  the  wom 
an  who  makes  toilets  in  the  conscious  or  half-conscious 
longing  successfully  to  prostitute  herself  to  the  eyes  of 
the  public.  I  recall  every  detail  of  that  incident ;  yet  I 
have  only  the  vaguest  recollection  of  our  beginning  to 
occupy  separate  bedrooms.  By  that  time  the  feeling  of 
alienation  must  have  grown  so  strong  that  I  took  the 
radical  change  in  our  habits  as  the  matter  of  course. 

Many  are  the  women,  in  all  parts  of  the  earth,  who 
have  sought  to  climb  into  the  world  of  fashion  by  the 
broad  and  apparently  easy  stairway  of  charity.  But 
most  of  them  have  failed  because  they  were  unaware  of 
the  secret  of  that  stairway,  an  unsuspected  secret 
which  I  shall  proceed  to  point  out.  It  seems,  as  I  have 
said,  a  particularly  easy  stairway — broad,  roomy,  with 
invalid  steps.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  moving  stairway  so  cun 
ningly  contrived  that  she — it  is  usually  she — who  as 
cends  keeps  in  the  same  place.  She  goes  up,  but  at 
exactly  her  ascending  rate  the  stairway  goes  down.  She 
sees  other  women  making  apparently  no  more  effort 
than  she  ascending  rapidly,  and  presently  entering  the 
earthly  heaven  at  the  top.  Yet  there  she  stands,  mark 
ing  time,  moving  not  one  inch  upward,  and  there  she 
will  stand  until  she  wearies,  relaxes  her  efforts,  and 
finds  herself  rapidly  descending.  But  how  do  the 
women  who  ascend  accomplish  it  ?  I  do  not  know.  You 
must  ask  them.  I  only  know  the  cause  of  the  failure 

115 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  the  women  who  do  not  ascend.  If  I  knew  why  the 
others  succeeded  I  should  not  tell  it.  I  would  not  de 
prive  fashionable  women  of  the  joy  of  occupying  a  dif 
ficult  height  from  which  they  can  indulge  themselves 
in  the  happiness  of  sneering  and  spitting  down  at 
their  lowlier  sisters.  And  I  have  no  sympathy  with 
the  aspirations  or  the  humiliations  of  those  lowlier 
sisters. 

My  energetic  and  aspiring  wife  presently  found 
herself  on  this  stairway,  with  no  hint  as  to  its  secret, 
much  less  as  to  the  way  of  overcoming  its  peculiarity. 
She  toiled  daily  in  Holy  Cross.  She  subscribed  to 
everything,  she  helped  in  everything.  She  was  the 
proud  recipient  of  the  rector's  loud  praises  as  his  "  most 
devoted,  least  worldly,  most  spiritual  helper."  But — 
not  an  invitation  of  the  kind  she  wanted.  Everyone 
was  "  just  lovely  "  to  her.  Whenever  any  charitable 
or  spiritual  matter  was  to  be  discussed,  no  matter  how 
grand  and  exclusive  the  house  in  which  the  discussion 
was  to  be  held,  there  was  my  wife  in  a  place  of  honor, 
eagerly  consulted — and  urged  to  subscribe.  But  noth 
ing  unworldly.  They  understood  how  spiritual  she  was, 
did  those  sweet,  good  people.  They  knew  Saint  Edna 
wished  no  social  frivolities — no  dinners  or  theater  par 
ties,  no  bridge  or  dancing. 

She  was  a  wise  lady.  She  hid  her  burning  impa 
tience.  She  smiled  and  purred  when  she  yearned  to 
scowl  and  scratch.  She  waited,  and  prayed  for  some 
lucky  accident  that  would  swing  her  across  the  invisible, 
apparently  nonexistent  but  actually  impassable  dead 
line.  She  had  expected  snubs  and  cold  shoulders. 

116 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

Never  a  snub,  never  a  cold  shoulder.  Always  smiles 
and  gracious  handshakings  and  amiable  familiarities, 
but  those  always  of  the  kind  that  serve  to  accentuate 
caste  distinction  instead  of  removing  it.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  I  think,  she  was  completely  stumped. 
She  could  combat  obstacles.  She  might  even  have 
found  a  way  to  fight  fog.  But  how  ridiculous  to  make 
struggles  and  thrust  out  fists  when  there  is  nothing 
but  empty,  sunny  air ! 

She  held  church  lunches  and  dinners  at  our  house — 
of  course,  had  me  on  duty  at  the  dinners.  All  in  vain. 
The  distinction  between  the  spiritual  and  the  temporal 
remained  in  force.  The  grand  people  came,  acted  as  if 
they  were  delighted,  complimented  her  on  her  house, 
on  her  hospitality,  went  away,  to  invite  her  to  similar 
dreary  functions  at  their  houses.  And  my,  how  it  did 
cost  her!  No  wonder  Holy  Cross  made  a  pet  of  her 
and  elected  me  to  the  board  of  vestrymen. 

Once  in  a  while  she  would  find  something  in  her  net, 
so  slyly  cast,  so  softly  drawn.  She  would  have  a  wild 
spasm  of  joy;  then  the  something  would  turn  out  to 
be  another  climber  like  herself.  Those  climbers  avoided 
each  other  as  devils  dodge  the  font  of  holy  water.  The 
climber  she  would  have  caught  would  be  one  who,  igno 
rant  of  the  intricacies  of  New  York  society,  was  under 
the  impression  that  the  Mrs.  Godfrey  Loring  so  con 
spicuous  in  Holy  Cross  must  be  a  social  personage. 
They  would  examine  each  other — at  a  series  of  joyous 
entertainments  each  would  provide  for  the  other,  would 
discover  their  mutual  mistake — and —  You  know  the 
contemptuous  toss  with  which  the  fisherman  rids  him- 

117 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

self  of  a  bloater;  you  know  the  hysterical  leap  of  the 
released  bloater  back  into  the  water. 

But  how  it  was  funny !  My  wife  did  not  take  me 
into  her  confidence  as  to  her  social  struggles.  She  main 
tained  with  me  the  same  sweet,  elegant  exterior  of 
spiritual  placidity  with  which  she  faced  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Nevertheless,  in  a  dim  sort  of  way  I  had  some 
notion  of  what  she  was  about — though,  as  I  was  pres 
ently  to  discover,  I  was  wholly  mistaken  in  my  idea  of 
her  progress. 

"What  has  happened  to  Mrs.  Lestrange?"  I  said 
to  her  one  evening  at  dinner.  "  Is  she  ill  ?  " 

She  cast  a  quick,  nervous  glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  butler.  I,  looking  at  him  by  way  of  a  mirror, 
thought  I  saw  upon  his  aristocratic  countenance  a  faint 
trace  of  that  insolent  secret  glee  which  fills  servants 
when  their  betters  are  humiliated  before  them.  "  Mrs. 
Lestrange?"  she  said  carelessly.  "Oh,  I  see  her  now 
and  then." 

"  But  you've  been  inseparable  until  lately,"  said  I. 
"  A  quarrel,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  my  wife  tartly. 
And  she  shifted  abruptly  to  another  subject.     When 
I  went  to  the  little  study  adjoining  my  sitting  room  to 
smoke  she  came  with  me.     There  she  said: 

"  Please  don't  mention  Mrs.  Lestrange  before  the 
servants  again." 

"  Why,  what's  up?  "  said  I.  "  Did  she  turn  out  to 
be  a  crook?  " 

"  Heavens,  no !  How  coarse  you  are,  Godfrey. 
Simply  that  I  was  terribly  mistaken  in  her." 

118 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  She  looked  like  a  confidence  woman  or  a  madam," 
said  I.  "  Didn't  you  tell  me  she  was  a  howling  swell?  " 

"  I  thought  she  was,"  said  my  wife,  and  I  knew 
something  important  was  coming;  only  that  theory 
would  account  for  her  admitting  she  had  made  a  mis 
take.  "  And  in  a  way  she  was.  But  they  caught  her 
several  years  ago  taking  money  to  get  some  dreadful 
low  Western  people  into  society.  Since  then  she's 
asked — she  herself — because  she's  well  connected  and 
amusing.  But  she  can't  help  anyone  else." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  I.  "  And  you  don't  feel  strong 
enough  socially  as  yet  to  be  able  to  afford  the  luxury 
of  her  friendship." 

"  Strong  enough !  "  said  Edna  with  intense  bitter 
ness.  "  I  have  no  position  at  all — none  whatever." 

I  was  surprised,  for  until  that  moment  I  had  been 
assuming  she  was  on  or  near  the  top  of  the  wave,  moving 
swiftly  toward  triumphant  success.  "  You  want  too 
much,"  said  I.  "  You've  really  got  all  there  is  to  get. 
At  that  last  reception  of  yours  you  had  all  the  heavy 
swells.  My  valet  told  me  so." 

"  Reception  to  raise  funds  for  the  orphanage,"  said 
Edna  with  a  vicious  sneer — the  unloveliest  expression  I 
had  ever  seen  on  her  lovely  face — and  I  had  seen  not  a 
few  unlovely  expressions  there  in  our  many  married 
years,  some  of  them  extremely  trying  years.  "  I  tell 
you  I  am  nobody  socially.  They  take  my  money  for 
their  rotten  old  charities.  They  use  me  for  their  tire 
some  church  work — and  they  do  nothing  for  me — noth 
ing  !  How  I  hate  them !  " 

I  sat  smoking  my  cigar  and  watching  her  face.  It 
119 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

was  a  wonderfully  young  face.  Not  that  she  was  so 
old;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  still  young  in  years.  I 
call  her  face  wonderfully  young  because  it  had  that  look 
of  inexhaustible,  eternal  youth  which  is  rare  even  in 
the  faces  of  boys  and  girls.  But  that  evening  I  was 
not  thinking  so  much  of  her  youth  and  her  beauty  as 
of  a  certain  expression  of  hardness,  of  evil  passions 
rampant — envy  and  hatred  and  jealousy,  savage  disap 
pointment  over  defeats  in  sordid  battles. 

"  Edna,"  said  I,  hesitatingly,  "  why  don't  you  drop 
all  that?  Can't  you  see  there's  nothing  in  it?  You're 
tempting  the  worst  things  in  your  nature  to  grow  and 
destroy  all  that's  good  and  sweet — all  that  makes  you — 
and  me — happy.  People  aren't  necessary  to  us.  And 
if  you  must  have  friends,  surely  all  the  attractive  people 
in  New  York  aren't  in  that  little  fashionable  set.  Judg 
ing  from  what  I've  seen  of  them,  they're  a  lot  of  bores." 

"  They  look  bored  here,"  retorted  she.  "  And  no 
wonder!  They  come  as  a  Christian  duty." 

I  laughed.  "  Now,  honestly,  are  those  fashionable 
people  the  best  educated,  the  best  in  any  way — any  real 
way?  I've  talked  with  the  men,  and  the  younger  ones 
— the  ones  that  go  in  for  society— are  unspeakable  rot 
ters.  I  wouldn't  have  them  about." 

Edna's  eyes  flashed,  and  her  form  quivered  in  a  gust 
of  hysterical  fury — the  breaking  of  long-pent  passion, 
of  anger  and  despair,  taking  me  as  an  excuse  for  vent. 
"  Oh,  it's  terrible  to  be  married  to  a  man  who  always 
misunderstands ! — one  who  can't  sympathize !  "  cried 
she.  It  was  a  remark  she  often  made,  but  never  before 
had  she  put  so  much  energy,  so  much  bitterness  into  it. 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

"  What  do  I  misunderstand  ?  "  I  asked,  more  hurt 
than  I  cared  to  show.  "  Where  don't  I  sympathize  ?  " 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  it !  "  exclaimed  she.  "  If  I 
weren't  a  remarkable  woman  I'd  have  given  up  long  ago 
— I'd  give  up  now." 

Before  you  smile  at  her  egotism,  gentle  reader, 
please  remember  that  husband  and  wife  were  talking 
alone ;  also  that  with  a  few  pitiful  exceptions  all  human 
beings  think  surpassingly  well  of  themselves,  and  do 
not  hesitate  to  express  that  good  opinion  privately.  I 
guess  there's  more  lying  done  about  lack  of  egotism  and 
of  vanity  generally  than  about  all  other  matters  put 
together. 

Said  I :  "  You  are  indeed  a  wonder,  dear.  In  this 
country  one  sees  many  astonishing  transformations. 
But  I  doubt  if  there  have  been  many  equal  to  the  trans 
formation  of  the  girl  I  married  into  the  girl  who's  sit 
ting  before  me." 

"  And  what  good  has  it  done  me  ?  "  demanded  she. 
"  How  I've  worked  away  at  myself — inside  and  out — 
and  all  for  nothing !  " 

"  You've  still  got  me"  said  I  jovially,  yet  in  earnest 
too.  "  Lots  of  women  lose  their  husbands.  I've  never 
had  a  single  impulse  to  wander." 

In  the  candor  of  that  intimacy  she  gave  me  a  most 
unflattering  look — a  look  a  woman  does  well  not  to  cast 
at  a  man  unless  she  is  more  absolutely  sure  of  him  than 
anyone  can  be  of  anything  in  this  uncertain  world.  I 
laughed  as  if  I  thought  she  meant  that  look  as  a  jest; 
I  put  the  look  away  in  my  memory  with  a  mark  on  it 
that  meant  "  to  be  taken  out  and  examined  at  leisure." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

But  she  was  absorbed  in  her  chagrin  over  her  social  fail 
ure;  she  probably  hardly  realized  I  was  there. 

"  Well,  what's  the  next  move  ?  "  inquired  I  presently. 

"  You've  got  to  help,"  replied  she — and  I  knew 
this  was  what  she  had  been  revolving  in  her  mind  all 
evening. 

"  Anything  that  doesn't  take  me  away  from  business, 
or  keep  me  up  too  late  to  fit  myself  for  the  next  day." 

"  Business — always  business,"  said  she,  in  deepest 
disgust.  "  Do  you  never  think  of  anything  else?  " 

"  My  business  and  my  family — that's  my  life," 
said  I. 

"  Not  your  family,"  replied  she.  "  You  care  noth 
ing  about  them." 

"  Edna,"  I  said  sharply,  "  that  is  unjust  and  un 
true." 

"  Oh,  you  give  them  money,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  said  she  disdainfully. 

"  And  I  give  them  love,"  said  I.  "  The  trouble  is  I 
give  so  freely  that  you  don't  value  it." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  good  husband,"  said  she  carelessly. 
"  But  I  want  you  to  take  an  interest." 

"  In  your  social  climbing?  " 

"  How  insulting  you  are !  "  she  cried,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  I  am  trying  to  claim  the  position  we  are  en 
titled  to,  and  you  speak  of  me  as  if  I  were  one  of  those 
vulgar  pushers." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I  humbly.  "  I  was  mere 
ly  joking." 

"  I've  often  told  you  that  your  idea  of  humor  wa§ 
revolting." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  felt  distressed  for  her  in  her  chagrin  and  despair. 
I  was  ready  to  bear  almost  anything  she  might  see  fit 
to  inflict.  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Whatever  it  is,  I'll  do  it.  Do  you  need  more  money?  " 

"  I  need  help — real  help,"  said  she. 

"  Money's  god  over  the  realm  of  fashion,  the  same 
as  it  is  over  that  of — of  religion — of  politics — or  any 
thing  you  please.  And  luckily  I've  got  that  little  god 
in  my  employ,  my  dear." 

"  If  you  are  so  powerful,"  said  she,  "  put  me  into 
fashionable  society — make  these  people  receive  me  and 
come  to  my  house." 

"  But  they  do,"  I  reminded  her. 

"  I  mean  socially"  cried  she.  "  Can't  I  make  you 
understand?  Why  are  business  men  so  dumb  at  any 
thing  else?  Compel  these  people  to  take  me  as  one 
of  them." 

"  Now,  Edna,  my  dear,"  protested  I,  "  be  reason 
able.  How  can  I  do  that?  " 

"Easily,  if  you've  got  real  power,"  rejoined  she. 
"  It's  been  done  often,  I've  found  out  lately.  At  least 
half  the  leaders  in  society  got  in  originally  by  compel 
ling  it.  But  you,  going  round  among  men  intimately — 
you  must  know  it — must  have  known  all  along.  If 
you'd  been  the  right  sort  of  man  I'd  not  have  to  humil 
iate  myself  by  asking  you — by  saying  these  dreadful 
things."  Her  eyes  were  flashing  and  her  bosom  was 
heaving.  "  Women  have  hated  men  for  less.  But  I 
must  bear  my  cross.  You  insist  on  degrading  me.  Very 
well.  I'll  let  myself  be  degraded.  I'll  say  the  things  a 

decent  man  would  not  ask  a  woman  to  say " 

123 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Edna,  darling,"  I  pleaded.  "  Honestly,  I  don't 
understand.  You'll  have  to  tell  me.  And  it's  not  de 
grading.  We  have  no  secrets  from  each  other.  We 
who  love  each  other  can  say  anything  to  each  other — 
anything.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Use  your  power  over  the  men.  Frighten  them 
into  ordering  their  wives  to  invite  us  and  to  accept 
our  invitations.  You  do  business  with  a  lot  of  the  men, 
don't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  You  can  benefit  or  injure  them,  as  you  please, 
can't  you? — can  take  money  away  from  them — can  put 
them  in  the  way  of  making  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  to  a  certain  extent." 

"  And  how  do  you  use  this  power  ?  " 

"  In  building  up  great  enterprises.  I  am  founding 
a  city  just  now,  for  instance,  where  there  was  nothing 
but  a  swamp  beside  a  lake,  and " 

"  In  making  more  and  more  money  for  yourself," 
she  cut  in,  "  you  think  only  of  yourself." 

"  And  you — what  do  you  think  of?  "  said  I. 

"  Not  of  myself,"  cried  she  indignantly.  "  Never  of 
myself.  Of  Margot.  Of  you.  Of  the  family.  I  am 
working  to  build  us  up — to  make  us  somebody  and  not 
mere  low  money  grubbers." 

I  did  not  see  it  from  her  point  of  view.  But  I  was 
not  inclined  to  aggravate  her  excitement  and  anger. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  use  your  powers  for  some  un 
selfish  purpose  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  Why  not  try  to  have 
higher  ambition  ?  " 

I  observed  her  narrowly.     She  was  sincere* 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me — for  Margot's  sake,  for 
your  own  sake,"  she  went  on  in  a  kind  of  exaltation. 
"  Margot  is  coming  on.  She'll  be  out  in  less  than  three 
years.  We've  got  to  make  a  position  for  her." 

"  I  thought,  up  there  at  Miss  Ryper's  she  was " 

"  That  shows  how  little  interest  you  take !  "  cried 
Edna.  "Don't  you  know  what  is  happening?  Why, 
already  the  fashionable  girls  at  her  school  are  begin 
ning  to  shy  off  from  her " 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  laughed  I.  "That  simply 
could  not  be.  She's  lovely,  sweet,  attractive  in  every 
way.  Any  girls  anywhere  would  be  proud  to  have  her 
as  a  friend." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  ignorant  of  the  world !  "  cried 
Edna  in  a  frenzy  of  exasperation.    "  Oh,  you'll  drive  me 
mad  with  your  stupidity!     Can't  you  realize  how  low\ 
fashionable  people  are.     The  girls  who  were  her  friends  I 
so  long  as  they  were  all  mere  children  are  now  taking  a 
positive  delight  in  snubbing  her,  because  she's  so  pretty 
and  will  be  an  heiress.     It  gives  them  a  sense  of  power 
to  treat  her  as  an  inferior,  to  make  her  suffer." 

I  flung  away  the  cigar  and  sat  up  in  the  chair. 
"  How  long  has  this  be?n  going  on  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Nearly  a  year3'?  replied  my  wife.  "  It  began  as 
soon  as  she  lost  her  childishness  and  developed  toward 
a  woman.  I'm  glad  I've  roused  you  at  last.  So  long 
as  she  was  a  mere  baby  they  liked  her — invited  her  to 
their  children's  parties — came  to  hers.  But  now  they're 
dropping  her.  Oh,  it's  maddening !  They  are  so  sweet 
and  smooth,  the  vile  little  daughters  of  vile  mothers !  " 

"  Incredible !  "   said  I.      "  Surely  not   those   sweet,, 
9  125 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

well-mannered  girls  I've  seen  here  at  her  parties  ?  They 
couldn't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  Why,  what  do  those 
babies  know  about  social  position  and  such  nonsense?  " 

"What  do  they  know?  What  don't  they  know?" 
cried  Edna,  trembling  with  rage  at  her  humiliation  and 
at  my  incredulity.  "  You  are  an  innocent !  There 
ought  to  be  a  new  proverb — innocent  as  a  married  man. 
Why,  nowadays  the  children  begin  their  social  training 
in  the  cradle.  They  soon  learn  to  know  a  nurse  or  a 
butler  from  a  lady  or  a  gentleman  before  they  learn 
to  walk.  They  hear  the  servants  talk.  They  hear  their 
parents  talk.  Except  innocent  you  everyone  nowadays 
thinks  and  talks  about  these  things." 

"  But  Margot — our  Margot — she  doesn't  know !  " 
I  said  with  conviction. 

Edna  laughed  harshly.  "  Know  ?  WThat  kind  of 
mother  do  you  think  I  am?  Of  course  she  knows. 
Haven't  I  been  teaching  her  ever  since  she  began  to 
talk?  Why  do  you  suppose  I've  always  called  her  the 
little  duchess?" 

"  She  suggests  a  superior  little  person,"  said  I, 
groping  vaguely. 

"  She  suggests  a  superior  person  because  I  gave 
her  that  name  and  brought  her  up  to  look  and  act  and 
feel  the  part.  She  expects  to  be  a  real  duchess  some 
day — '  Edna  reared  proudly,  and  her  voice  rang  out 
confidently  as  she  added — "  and  she  shall  be !  " 

I  stared  at  her.  It  seemed  to  me  she  must  be  out 
of  her  mind.  Oh,  I  was  indeed  innocent,  gentle  reader. 

6C  I've  always  treated  her  as  a  duchess,  and  have 
made  the  servants  do  it,  and  have  trained  her  to  treat 

126 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

•  ^iim~mHKmmmm*mmm\  ••••••••••••••••••••••••••^^^•••••••^^••••••••••••^••••i 

them  as  if  she  were  a  duchess."  A  proud  smile  came 
into  her  face,  transforming  it  suddenly  back  to  its  love 
liness.  "  The  first  time  I  ever  read  about  a  duchess — 
read,  knowing  what  I  was  reading  about — I  decided 
that  I  would  have  a  daughter  and  that  she  should  be  a 
duchess." 

At  any  previous  time  such  a  sally  would  have  made 
me  laugh.  But  not  then,  for  I  saw  that  she  meant  it 
profoundly.,  and  for  the  first  time  I  was  realizing  what 
had  been  going  on  in  my  family,  all  unsuspected  by  me. 

"  But  first,"  proceeded  Edna,  "  she  shall  have  the 
highest  social  position  in  New  York.  And  you  must 
help  if  I  am  to  succeed."  The  fury  burst  into  her  face 
again.  "  Those  little  wretches,  snubbing  her ! — drop 
ping  her !  I'll  make  them  pay  for  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Margot  realizes  all 
this?"  said  I. 

"  Poor  child,  she's  wretched  about  it.  Only  yester 
day  she  said  to  me :  '  Mamma,  is  it  true  that  you  and 
papa  are  very  common,  and  that  we  haven't  anything 
but  a  lot  of  stolen  money?  One  of  the  girls  got  mad 
at  me  because  I  was  so  good-looking  and  so  proud,  and 
taunted  me  with  it.'  ' 

"  Incredible!  "  said  I,  dazed. 

"  She's  horribly  unhappy,"  Edna  went  on.  "  And  it 
cuts  her  to  the  heart  to  be  losing  all  her  dearest  friends. 
I  did  my  duty  and  taught  her  which  girls  to  cultivate, 
and  she  was  intimate  only  with  the  right  sort  of  New 
York  girls." 

"I  expect  she  has  been  indiscreet,"  said  I.     "They've 

found  out  why  she  made  friends  with  them  and " 

127 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You  will  drive  me  crazy !  "  cried  Edna.  "  Can't 
you  understand?  All  the  mothers  and  the  governesses 
— all  the  grown  people  in  respectable  families  teach  the 
children.  Those  mothers  who  don't  teach  it  directly  see 
that  it's  taught  by  the  governesses,  or  else  select  the 
proper  friends  for  their  little  girls  and  see  that  they 
drop  any  who  aren't  proper." 

I  dropped  back  in  my  chair.  I  was  stunned.  It 
seemed  to  me  I  had  never  heard  anything  quite  so  in 
famous  in  my  life.  And  as  I  reflected  on  what  she  had 
said  I  wondered  that  I  had  not  realized  it  before.  I 
recalled  a  hundred  significant  facts  that  had  come  out 
in  talks  I  had  had  with  men,  women,  and  children  in 
this  fashionable  world  from  which  we  were  excluded, 
yet  with  which  we  were  in  constant  and  close  communi 
cation. 

"  The  question  is,  what  are  you  going  to  do,"  pro 
ceeded  Edna. 

I  shook  my  head,  probably  looking  as  dazed  as  I 
felt. 

"  What  does  that  headshake  mean  ?  "  demanded  she. 

"  You — taught  Margot  to  be  a — a — like  those 
other  girls  ?  "  said  I. 

'  I  "  Oh,  you  fool !  "  cried  Edna.  And  in  excuse  for 
her,  please  remember  I  had  ever  been  a  dotingly  bored 
slave  of  hers — as  uxorious  a  husband  as  you  ever  saw — 

!and  therefore  inevitably  despised,  for  women  have  so 
little  intelligence  that  they  despise  a  man  who  loves 
them  and  lets  them  rule.  "  You  fool !  "  she  repeated. 
"  Yes,  I  brought  her  up  like  a  lady — taught  her  to 
cultivate  nice  things  and  nice  people.  What  should  I 

128 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

teach  her?    To  associate  with  common  people?    To  drop 
back  toward  where  we  came  from — where  you  belong?  " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  I  do,"  said  I. 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  interested  myself  in  only  one 
aspect  of  human  nature — the  aspect  that  concerned  me 
as  a  business  man.  But  from  that  time  I  began  to  study 
the  human  animal  in  all  his — and  her — aspects.  And  it 
was  not  long  before  I  learned  what  that  animal  is  forced 
to  become  when  exposed  to  the  powerful  thrusts  and 
temptings  of  wealth  and  social  position.  In  our  alter 
nations  of  pride  and  humility  we  habitually  take  undue 
(credit  or  give  undue  blame  to  ourselves  for  what  is 
wholly  the  result  of  circumstance.  The  truth  is,  we  are 
like  flocks  of  birds  in  a  high  wind.  Some  of  us  fly  more 
steadily  than  others,  some  are  quite  beaten  down,  others 
seem  almost  self-directing;  but  all,  great  and  small, 
weak  and  strong,  are  controlled  by  the  wind,  and  those 
[who  make  the  best  showing  are  those  who  adapt  them 
selves  most  skillfully  to  the  will  of  the  wind. 

At  the  time  when  Edna  and  I  were  talking  I  had 
not  become  a  philosopher.    I  was  in  the  primitive  stages 
of  development  in  which  most  men  and  nearly  all  women 
remain  their  whole  lives  through — the  stage  in  which 
you  live,  gentle  reader,  with  your  shallow  mistaken  no 
tions  of  what  is  and  your  shallower  mistaken  notions 
of  what  ought  to  be.     So,  as  Edna  uncovered  herself 
to  me,  I  shrank  in  horror.     It  was  fortunate — for  her, 
at   least — that  I  had  always   trained  myself  never  to  , 
make  hasty  speeches.     My  expertness  in  that  habit  has  j 
probably  been  the  principal  cause  of  my  business  sue-  , 
cess,  of  my  ability  to  outwit  even  abler  men  than  myself.  -' 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  did  not  yield  to  the  impulse  to  burst  out  against  her. 
I  compressed  my  lips  and  silently  watched  as  she  lifted 
the  veil  over  our  family  life  and  revealed  to  me  the 
truth  about  it. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  impa 
tiently,  yet  with  a  certain  uneasiness  born  no  doubt  of 
a  something  in  my  manner  that  made  her  vaguely  afraid, 
for  while  she  knew  I  was  her  slave  and  despised  me,  asjj 
I  was  to  learn,  for  being  so  weak  before  a  mere  woman, 
she  also  knew  that,  outside  of  her  domain,  I  was  not  her 
slave  nor  anybody's,  but  planned  and  executed  at  the 
pleasure  of  my  own  will. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  said  I  slowly. 
"  I  must  think.  All  this  is  new  to  me." 

"  If  you  haven't  any  pride  in  yourself,  or  in  me," 
said  she,  "  still  you  surely  must  have  pride  for  Margot." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  I. 

"  If  you  could  know  how  they  have  made  the  poor 
child  suffer !  " 

I  made  no  reply,  nor  did  I  encourage  her  to  talk 
further.  In  fact,  when  she  began  again  I  stopped  her 
with :  "  I've  heard  enough,  my  dear.  And  I've  some 
important  business  to  attend  to." 

She,  preparing  to  leave  me  alone  with  my  papers, 
came  and  put  her  arms  round  my  neck  and  pressed  her 
cheek  against  mine.  I  think  she  was  uneasy  about  the 
posture  of  the  affair  in  my  mind — feared  stupid  com 
mercial  I  could  not  appreciate  these  vital  things  of  life. 
I  suspect  my  tranquil  reception  of  her  caresses  did  not 
tend  to  allay  her  uneasiness.  Never  before  had  she 
failed  to  interest  me  in  her  physical  self;  and  the  only 

130 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

reason  she  then  failed  was  that  in  the  general  upsetting 
of  all  my  ideas  of  what  my  family  life  was  there  had 
been  tossed  up  to  the  surface  an  undefined  suspicion  of 
her  sincerity  as  a  wife.  I  was  not  altogether  blind  as 
to  the  relations  of  men  and  women,  as  to  the  fact  that 
women  often  coolly  played  upon  the  passions  of  men 
for  their  own  purposes  of  money  getting  in  its  various 
forms.  My  wife  was  right  in  her  sneer  at  the  innocence 
of  married  men.  But  there  are  exceptions,  and  a  woman 
with  a  husband  intelligent  in  every  way  except  in  see 
ing  through  women  would  do  well  to  take  care  how  she 
tempts  his  intelligence  to  shake  off  its  indifference  in 
that  respect. 

The  next  morning  I  was  breakfasting  alone  as  usual. 
No,  gentle  reader,  I  am  not  girding  at  my  poor  wife 
as  you  hastily  accuse.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  deceive  my 
self  when  I  say  I  never  was  of  those  men  who  fuss  about 
trifles.  Thank  heaven,  as  soon  as  we  had  a  servant  my 
wife  kept  away  from  breakfast.  It  was  one  of  the  things 
I  loved  her  for.  If  I  had  been  married  to  a  woman  who 
appeared  at  breakfast  looking  lovely  and  smiling  sweet 
ly,  I  should  have  become  a  bad-tempered  tyrant.  I 
want  no  sentimentalities  in  the  early  morning  hours.  I 
wake  up  uncomfortable  and  sour,  and  I  quarrel  with 
myself  and  look  about  for  trouble  until  I  have  had 
something  to  eat  and  coffee.  Further  in  the  same  direc 
tion,  I  took  particular  pleasure  in  my  wife's  small  per 
sonal  slovenlinesses,  in  her  curl  papers,  in  her  occasional 
overlaying  of  her  face  with  cold  cream  and  the  like,  in 
her  careless  negligee  worn  in  her  own  rooms.  There  is,  I 
guess,  no  nature  so  prodigal  that  it  has  not  some  small 

131 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

economies.  Edna  had,  probably  still  has,  a  fondness 
for  wearing  out  thoroughly,  in  secluded  privacy,  house 
dresses,  underclothes,  and  night  gowns. 

It  took  nothing  from  my  delight  in  her  beauty  that 
she  was  not  invariably  beautiful.  I've  rarely  seen  her 
lovely  early  in  the  morning.  Who  is?  I  should  have 
taken  habitual  early-morning  loveliness  as  a  personal 
insult.  I've  seen  her  homely  all  day  long,  and  for  sev 
eral  days  at  a  time.  She  was  as  attractive  to  me  than 
as  at  her  most  beautiful.  I  detest  monotony.  Thank 
heaven,  she  was  never  monotonous  to  look  at ;  one  rather 
expects  mental  monotony  in  women  unless  one  is  a  fool. 
I  didn't  mind  her  times  of  homeliness,  because  she  could 
be  so  far,  far  the  opposite  of  homely.  I  did  not  mind  her 
way  of  getting  herself  up  in  odds  and  ends,  mussily, 
but,  mind  you,  never  after  the  Passaic  days  unclean — 
never !  I  did  not  mind  her  dishevelments  because,  when 
she  set  out  to  dress,  she  did  it  so  bang  up  well.  She 
was  born  with  a  talent  for  dress ;  she  rapidly  developed 
it  into  an  art.  You  know  what  I  mean.  You've  seen 
the  girl  with  hardly  five  dollars'  worth  of  clothing  on 
her,  including  the  hat,  yet  making  the  woman  from  the 
best  dressmaker  in  Paris  look  a  frump. 

I  never  had  to  join  the  innumerable  and  pitiful  army 
of  men  who  give  the  woman  their  money  to  squander 
upon  bad  fits  and  bad  taste,  and  are  bowed  down  with 
shame  when  they  have  to  issue  forth  with  her.  I  can 
honestly  say,  and  Edna  will  bear  me  out,  that  I  gave 
her  money  freely.  No  doubt  the  reason  in  part  was  I 
found  it  so  easy  to  make  money  that  I  was  indifferent 
to  extravagance.  But  the  chief  reason,  I  believe,  was 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Edna's  skill  at  dress.  The  woman  who  is  physically 
alluring  to  her  husband,  and  who  knows  how  to  dress, 
rarely  has  difficulty  in  getting  money  from  him,  though 
he  be  a  miser.  But,  gentle  lady  reader,  can  you  in  your 
heart  blame  a  man  for  grudging  his  earnings  to  a 
woman  who  isn't  fit  to  dress  and  who  doesn't  know  how, 
either  ? 

As  I  had  begun  to  tell  when  I  interrupted  myself,  I 
was  breakfasting  alone  the  morning  after  that  mem 
orable  talk  with  Edna,  and  Margot  came  down  to 
glance  in  for  a  smile  at  me  on  her  way  to  school. 

In  theory  Margot  was  still  classed  as  a  child,  and 
would  be  so  classed  for  two  years  longer.  In  fact  she- 
was,  and  had  been  for  two  years  and  more,  a  full-fledged 
young  lady.  That  is  the  way  American  children  of  the 
rank  for  which  my  wife  was  training  Margot  are  being; 
brought  up  nowadays.  She  had  her  own  apartment,, 
dressing  room  and  bath,  sitting  room,  reception  room — 
as  many  rooms  as  my  wife  and  I  had  altogether  when 
we  began  married  life,  and  about  four  times  the  room. 
As  for  luxury,  a  comparison  would  be  ridiculous.  Also 
Margot  had  her  own  staff  of  servants — companion, 
maid,  maid's  assistant — and  her  own  automobile  with 
chauffeur,  used  by  no  one  else.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
more  helpless  creatures  than  these  young  aspirants  to 
aristocracy.  And  they  prided  themselves  upon  their  ig 
norance  of  the  realities,  and  their  mothers,  often  with  hy 
pocritical  pretense  of  distress,  boasted  it.  At  that  time 
I  thought  it  amusing.  The  serious  side  of  it  was  entirely 
out  of  my  range.  We  American  men  of  the  comfortable 
and  luxurious  classes  are  addicted  to  the  habit  of  re- 

133 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

garding  our  wives  and  children  as  toys,  as  mere  sources 
of  amusement  not  to  be  taken  seriously.  It  isn't  strange 
that  the  children  should  not  mind  this,  but  what  a  com 
mentary  upon  the  real  mentality  of  the  women  that  they 
tolerate  and  encourage  it!  Our  women  are  always, 
with  a  fine  show  of  earnestness,  demanding  that  they  be 
taken  seriously.  But  woe  unto  the  man  who  believes 
them  in  earnest  and  tries  to  treat  them  as  his  equals 
instead  of  as  dainty  toys,  odalisques.  How  he  will  be 
-denounced,  hated,  and,  if  proper  alimony  can  be  got, 
divorced ! 

Margot's  parties  differed  in  no  respect  from  grown 
up  parties,  except  that  there  were  restrictions  in  the 
matter  of  hours  and  also  as  to  the  serving  of  drinks. 
3?or,  I  believe  my  wife  did  not  follow  the  extreme  of 
fashionable  custom,  but  forbade  wines  and  punch  at 
these  parties.  In  this  matter,  as  in  the  matter  of  using 
•slang  and  in  many  others,  she  held  that  only  people  of 
long-established  social  position,  people  with  what  is 
called  tradition,  could  safely  make  excursions  beyond 
the  bounds  of  conventionality ;  that  it  was  safest,  wisest 
for  people  like  herself  to  stay  well  within  the  bounds,  to 
be  prim  even,  and  so  to  avoid  any  possible  criticism  as 
vulgar.  A  very  shrewd  woman  was  Edna.  If  her  in 
telligence  had  been  equal  to  her  shrewdness  and  energy, 
and  if  she  had  possessed  a  gleam  of  the  sense  of  humor ! 
However 

In  no  essential  respect  did  Margot's  routine  of  life 
differ  from  that  of  her  mother — and  her  mother's  rou 
tine  of  inane  and  worthless  time-killing  was  modeled 
exactly  upon  that  of  all  the  fashionable  women  and  apers 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  fashionable  women.  Edna  did  a  vast  amount  of 
studying,  with  and  without  teachers.  It  was  all  shallow 
and  showy.  Margot's  studies  were  also  beneath  con 
tempt.  I  amused  myself  from  time  to  time  by  inquir 
ing — with  pretense  of  gravity — into  what  they  were 
teaching  her  at  the  Ryper  school  for  the  turning  out  of 
fashionable  womanhood.  Such  a  mess  of  trash!  She 
was  learning  much  about  social  usages,  from  how  to  sit 
in  a  carriage — a  rare  art  that,  I  assure  you,  gentle 
reader — to  how  to  receive  guests  at  a  large  dinner. 
She  was  studying  some  of  the  vulgarities — science,  his 
tory,  literature,  and  the  like — but  in  no  vulgar  way. 
She  would  get  only  the  thinnest  smatter  of  talkable  stuff 
about  them — nothing  "  unsettling,"  nothing  that  might 
possibly  rouse  the  mind  to  think  or  distract  the  atten 
tion  from  the  "  high  "  things  of  life.  She  was  dabbling 
in  music,  in  drawing,  in  several  similar  costly  fripperies. 
And  the  sum  total  of  expense! — well,  no  wonder  Miss 
Ryper  was  fast  becoming  as  rich  as  some  of  the  aster 
oids  in  the  plutocracy  she  adored. 

•  I  regarded  Margot's  education  as  a  species  of 
joke.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  our  pretty  baby 
had  the  right  to  be  educated  to  become  a  wife  and  a 
mother.  And  why  should  it  have  occurred  to  me?  > 
Where  is  that  being  done?  Who  is  thinking  of  it?  In  ' 
all  the  oceans  of  twaddle  about  the  elevation  of  woman 
where  is  there  a  drop  of  good  sense  about  real  educa 
tion?  You  say  I  was  criminally  negligent  as  to  my 
daughter's  education.  But  how  about  your  own  ?  The 
truth  is,  we  all  still  look  upon  education  as  a  frill,  an 
ornament.  We  never  think  of  it,  whether  for  our  sons 

135 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

or  for  our  daughters,  as  nothing  more  or  less  than 
teaching  a  human  being  how  to  live.  It  is  high  time  to 
end  this  idiotic  ignorant  exaltation  of  tomfoolery  into 
culture ! 

Poor  Margot !    How  the  little  girls  in  plain  clothes 
— and  machine-made  underwear — must  have  envied  her 
as  she  swept  along  in  her  limousine,  dressed  with  that 
enormously  costly  simplicity  which  only  the  rich  can  af 
ford.     No  wonder  many  of  the  other  girls  at  the  Ryper 
school  hated  her.     For,  her  mother  was  in  one  respect 
unlike  most  of  the  fashionable  mothers  who  are  too  busy 
doing  things  not  worth  doing  to  attend  to  their  children. 
Her  mother  gave  her  loving  care,  spent  many  hours — of 
anxious  thought,  no  doubt — in  planning  to  make  her  the 
most  luxurious,  the  most  helpless,  the  most  envied  girl 
in  the  school.    We  hear  unendingly  about  the  good  that 
love  does  in  the  world.      Not  too  much — no,  indeed! 
But  at  the  same  time  might  it  not  be  well  if  we  also 
heard  about  the  harm  love  can  do — and  does?     How 
many  sons  and  daughters  have  been  ruined  by  loving 
parents !     How  many  husbands  have  been  wrecked  by 
the  flatteries  and  the  assiduities  of  loving  wives !     How 
many  wives  have  been  lured  to  decay  and  destruction 
;  |by  the  over-indulgent  love  of  their  husbands !    What  we  j 
jneed  in  this  world  is  not  more  sentiment,  but  more  in- 
ftelligence.     Sentiment  is  a  force  that  rushes  far  and 
jcrazily  in  both  directions,  gentle  reader,  unless  it  has 
[well-balanced  intelligence  to  guide  it. 

Margot,  smiling  in  the  doorway  of  the  breakfast 
room,  put  me  at  once  into  a  less  somber  humor.  She 
was  tall  and  slim — an  inch  taller  than  her  mother  and 

136 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  the  same  supple,  well-proportioned  figure.  She  had 
her  mother's  small,  tip-tilted  face  and  luminous  eyes, 
but  they  were  of  an  intense  dark  gray  that  gave  her 
an  expression  of  poetic  thoughtfulness  and  mystery. 
Whiter  or  more  perfectly  formed  teeth  I  have  never 
seen.  In  former  days  children's  teeth  were  neglected. 
But  my  wife,  with  her  peculiar  reach  for  all  matters 
having  to  do  with  appearances,  had  learned  the  modern 
methods  of  caring  for  the  body  when  Margot  was  still 
in  the  period  when  the  body  is  almost  as  formable  as 
sculptor's  clay.  Thus  Margot's  teeth  had  been  looked 
after  and  made  perfect  and  kept  so.  Her  hair  hung 
loose  upon  her  shoulders  like  a  wonderful  changeable 
veil  of  golden  brown.  Often  at  first  glance  you  are 
dazzled  by  these  carefully  fed  and  carefully  groomed 
children  of  the  rich,  only  to  note  at  the  second  glance 
that  the  best  showing  has  been  made  of  precious  little 
in  the  way  of  natural  charm.  But  this  was  not  true  of 
Margot.  The  longer  you  looked,  and  the  more  atten 
tively,  the  finer  she  seemed  to  be — like  a  rare  perfect 
specimen  from  a  connoisseur's  greenhouses.  There's  no 
doubt  about  it,  Edna  did  know  the  physical  side  of  life. 
She  would  have  got  notable  results  even  had  we  been 
poor.  As  it  was,  with  all  the  money  she  cared  to  spend, 
she  performed  what  looked  like  miracles. 

"  Come  and  kiss  me,  Margot,"  said  I. 

She  obeyed,  with  a  charming  air  of  restrained  eager 
ness  that  is  regarded  as  ladylike.  "  My  car  is  waiting," 
said  she.  "  I'm  late." 

"  Is  that  Therese  "—her  maid—"  out  in  the  hall 
waiting  to  go  with  you?  " 

137 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Yes.  Miss  Parnell  " — her  companion — "  has  a 
headache,  poor  creature !  " 

Margot  had  caught  to  perfection  the  refined,  ele 
gant,  fashionable  tone  of  speaking  of  the  servile  classes. 
Though  I  was  in  a  critical  mood  that  morning,  I  was 
not  critical  of  my  beloved  little  Margot,  and  her  airs 
entertained  me  as  much  as  ever.  Said  I: 

"  Sit  down,  little  duchess " — the  familiar  name 
slipped  out  unconsciously — "  and  talk  to  me  a  few 
minutes." 

"  But  I'm  shockingly  late,  papa,"  pleaded  she. 

"  No  matter.  I'll  telephone  Miss  Ryper,  if  you 
wish."  To  the  butler,  who  was  serving  me :  "  Sackville, 
go  tell  Therese  that  I'm  detaining  Miss  Margot.  And 
close  the  door  behind  you." 

Sackville  retired.  Margot  seated  herself  with  alac 
rity.  She  did  not  like  her  useless  school  any  better  than 
other  children  like  more  or  less  useful  schools.  "  Are 
you  taking  me  to  the  theater  Saturday  afternoon,  as 
you  promised?  "  said  she.  "  And  do  get  a  box  and  let 
me  ask  two  of  the  girls." 

"  Certainly,"  said  I.  "  If  I  can't  go,  Miss  Parnell 
will  chaperon  you." 

"  No,  I  want  you,  papa.    It's  so  nice  to  have  a  man." 
j        "  How  are  you  getting  on  at  school?     Not  with  the 
studies  " — I  laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  calling  her 
fiddle-faddle  studies—"  but  with  the  girls?  " 

Her  face  clouded.     "  Has  mamma  told  you  ?  " 

"Told  me  what?" 

She  hesitated. 

"  Go  on,  dear,"  said  I.     "  What's  the  trouble?  " 
138 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Oh,  it's  always  the  same  thing,"  she  sighed,  with 
a  grown-up  air  that  was  both  humorous  and  pathetic. 
"  Some  of  the  girls  are  down  on  me — about — about 
social  position.  You  see,  we  don't  go  socially  with  their 
families." 

"  Why  should  we?  "  said  I.  "  We  don't  know  them, 
nor  they  us.  Naturally,  they  don't  care  anything  about 
us,  nor  we  about  them." 

She  hung  her  head.  "  But  I  want  to  go  with  them*'* 
said  she  doggedly. 

"Why?"  said  I. 

"  Because — because — it's  the  proper  thing  to  do.  If 
you  don't  go  with  them  everybody  looks  down  on  you." 
She  lifted  her  head,  and  her  flashing  eyes  reminded  me 
of  her  mother.  "  It  makes  me  just  wild  to  be  looked 
down  on." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  I.  "  Those  little  girls  at 
Miss  Ryper's  must  be  an  ill-bred  lot.  We  must  take 
you  away  from  there  and  put  you  in  a  school  with  nice 
girls." 

"  Oh,  no,  father !  "  she  cried  in  a  panic.  "  Those 
girls  are  the  nicest — the  only  nice  girls  in  any  school 
in  New  York.  All  the  other  schools  look  up  to  ours. 
I'd  cry  my  eyes  out  in  any  other  school." 

"Why?;?  said  I. 

"  I'd  feel — low."  Her  eyes  had  filled  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed.  "  I'd  be  out  of  place  except  among  the 
richest  and  most  aristocratic  girls." 

"  But  you  don't  like  them,"  said  I  gently.  I  began 
to  feel  a  sensation  of  sickness  at  the  heart. 

"  I  hate  them ! "  cried  she  with  passionate  energy.. 
139 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  But  I  want  to  stay  on  there  and  make  them  be  friendly 
with  me.  I've  got  too  much  pride,  papa,  to  run  away." 

"  Pride,"  said  I,  and  my  tone  must  have  been  sad. 
"  That  isn't  pride,  dear.  You  ought  to  choose  your 
friends  by  liking.  You  ought  to  feel  above  girls  with 
such  cheap  ideas." 

"  But  I'm  not  above  them,"  protested  she.  "  And 
I  couldn't  like  any  girl  I'd  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  with, 
unless  she  were  a  sort  of  servant.  Oh,  papa,  you  don't 
appreciate  how  proud  I  am." 

"  Proud  of  what,  dear  ?  Of  your  parents  ?  Of  your 
self  ?  " 

She  hung  her  head. 

"  Of  what,  dear?  "  I  urged. 

"  It  hurts  me  not  to  be  treated  as — as  the  inside 
clique  of  girls  in  our  secret  society  treat  each  other." 
She  was  almost  crying.  "  They  don't  even  call  me  by 
my  first  name  any  more.  They  speak  to  me  as  Miss 
Loring — and  so  politely — exactly  as  I  speak  to  Miss 
Parnell  or  one  of  the  teachers  or  a  servant.  Oh,  I'm 
so  proud!  I'd  love  to  be  like  Gracie  Fortescue.  She 
speaks  even  to  Miss  Ryper  as  I  would  to  Miss  Parnell." 

My  digestion  wasn't  any  too  good,  even  in  those 
days.  My  whole  breakfast  suddenly  went  wrong — 
turned  to  poison  inside  me,  I  suppose.  A  hot  wave  of 
rage  against  I  knew  not  whom  or  what  rolled  up  into 
my  brain.  I  pushed  away  my  plate  abruptly.  "  Run 
along,  child,"  I  said  in  a  hoarse  voice  I  did  not  recog 
nize  as  my  own. 

She  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck  with  a  gesture 
and  an  expression  that  made  me  realize  how  close  a  copy 

140 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  her  mother  she  was.  "  You  wouldn't  take  me  away 
from  my  school,  would  you,  papa  dear  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  All  I  want  is  to  make  you  happy,"  said  I,  patting 
and  stroking  that  thick  and  lovely  veil  of  flowing  hair. 

She  assumed  that  I  meant  she  was  to  stay  on  with 
the  viperous  Ryper  brood,  and  went  away  almost  happy. 
She  had  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there  were  fates 
even  worse  than  being  snubbed  and  addressed  like  a 
teacher  or  a  companion  or  a  servant  or  some  other  lower 
animal — yes,  far  worse  fates.  For  instance,  not  being 
able  to  feel  that  she  was,  on  whatever  degrading  terms, 
at  least  associated  with  the  adored  fashionables. 

That  evening  when  my  wife  again  accompanied  me 
to  my  study,  after  dinner,  I  said  to  her : 

"  I've  been  turning  over  our  talk  last  night.  I 
haven't  been  able  to  reach  a  conclusion  as  yet,  except 
on  one  point.  I  can't  help  you  socially  in  the  way  you 
suggested." 

I  glanced  at  her  as  I  said  this.  She  was  looking  at 
me.  Her  pale,  intense  expression  fascinated  me. 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  thought  about  it  fully," 
said  she  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  with  my  utmost  deliberateness ;  "  and 
my  decision  is  final." 

She  rose,  stood  beside  her  chair,  rubbing  her  hand 
softly  along  the  top  of  the  back.  "  Very  well,"  said 
she  quietly.  And  she  left  me  alone. 


10 


V 


IN  refusing  Edna  her  heart's  desire  thus  promptly 
and  tersely  I  had  an  object.  I  assumed  she  would  pro 
test  and  argue ;  in  the  discussion  that  would  follow  some 
light  might  come  to  me,  utterly  befogged  as  to  what 
course  to  take  about  my  family  affairs.  I  knew  some 
thing  should  be  done — something  quick  and  drastic. 
But  what?  It  was  no  new  experience  to  me  to  be  faced 
with  complex  and  well-nigh  impossible  situations.  My 
business  life  had  been  a  succession  of  such  experiences. 
And  while  I  had  learned  much  as  to  handling  them,  I 
had  also  learned  how  dangerous  it  is  to  rush  in  recklessly 
and  to  begin  action  before  one  has  discovered  what  to 
do — and  what  not  to  do.  The  world  is  full  of  Hasty 
Hals  and  Hatties  who  pride  themselves  on  their  emer 
gency  minds,  on  knowing  just  what  to  do  in  any  situa 
tion  the  instant  it  arises ;  and  fine  spectacles  they  are, 
lying  buried  and  broken  amid  the  ruins  they  have  aggra 
vated  if  not  created. 

How  recover  my  wife?  How  rescue  my  daughter? 
I  could  think  of  no  plan — of  no  beginning  toward  a 
plan.  And  when  Edna,  by  receiving  my  refusal  in  cold 
silence,  defeated  my  hope  of  a  possibly  illuminating  dis 
cussion,  I  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn. 

Why  had  I  refused  to  help  her  in  the  way  she  sug- 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

gested?  Not  on  moral  grounds,  gentle  reader.  There 
I  should  have  been  as  free  from  scruple  as  you  yourself 
would  have  been,  as  you  perhaps  have  been  in  your  so 
cial  climbing  or  maneuvering  in  your  native  town,  where- 
ever  it  is.  Nor  yet  through  fear  of  failure.  I  did  not 
know  the  social  game,  but  I  did  know  something  of 
human  nature.  And  I  had  found  out  that  the  trium 
phant  class,  far  from  being  the  gentlest  and  most  civil 
ized,  as  its  dominant  position  in  civilization  would  in 
dicate,  was  in  fact  the  most  barbarous,  was  saturated 
with  the  raw  savage  spirit  of  the  right  of  might.  I 
am  speaking  of  actualities,  not  of  pretenses — of  deeds, 
not  of  words.  To  find  a  class  approaching  it  in  frank 
savagery  of  will  and  action  you  would  have  to  descend 
through  the  social  strata  until  you  came  to  the  class 
that  wields  the  blackjack  and  picks  pockets  and  dyna 
mites  safes.  The  triumphant  class  became  triumphant 
not  by  refinement  and  courtesy  and  consideration,  but 
by  defiance  of  those  fundamentals  of  civilization — by 
successful  defiance  of  them.  It  remained  the  triumphant  : 

'class  by  keeping  that  primal  savagery  of  nature.     As 

jsoon  as  any  member  of  it  began  to  grow  tame — gentle, 
considerate,  except  where  consideration  for  others  would 
increase  his  own  wealth  and  power,  became  really  a  dis- 

|  ciple  of  the  sweet  gospel  he  professed  and  urged  upon 

others — just  so  soon  did  he  begin  to  lose  his  wealth  into 

\  ;;the  strong  unscrupulous  hands  ever  reaching  for  it — 

:and  with  waning  wealth  naturally  power  and  prestige 
;  waned. 

No,  I  did  not  refuse  because  I  thought  the  trium 
phant  class  would  contemptuously  repel  any  attempt  to 

143 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

carry  its  social  doors  by  assault.  I  saw  plainly  enough 
that  I  could  compel  enough  of  these  society  leaders  to 
receive  my  wife  and  daughters  to  insure  their  position. 
You  have  seen  swine  gathered  about  a  trough,  comfort 
ably  swilling;  you  have  seen  a  huge  porker  come  run 
ning  with  angry  squeal  to  join  the  banquet.  You  have 
observed  how  rudely,  how  fiercely  he  is  resented  and 
fought  off  by  the  others.  This,  until  he  by  biting  and 
thrusting  has  made  a  place  for  himself;  then  the  fact 
Jiat  he  is  an  intruder  and  the  method  of  his  getting  a 
Dlace  are  forgotten,  and  the  swilling  goes  peacefully 
?orward.  So  it  is,  gentle  reader,  though  it  horrifies  your 
lypocrisy  to  be  told  it,  so  do  human  beings  conduct 
;hemselves  round  a  financial  or  political  or  social  swill 
irough.  I  should  have  had  small  difficulty  in  biting  and 
kicking  a  satisfactory  place  for  Edna  and  Margot  at 
the  social  swill  trough;  I  should  have  had  no  difficulty 

at  all  in  keeping  it  for  them.    But 

You  will  be  incredulous,  gentle  reader,  devoured  of 
snobbishness  and  dazzled  by  what  you  have  heard  and 
read  of  the  glories  of  fashionable  society  in  the  me 
tropolis.  You  will  be  incredulous,  because  you,  too, 
like  the  overwhelming  majority  of  the  comfortable 
classes  in  this  great  democracy — and  many  of  the  not 
so  comfortable  classes  as  well — because  you,  too,  are 
infected  of  the  mania  for  looking  about  for  some  one 
who  refuses  to  associate  with  you  on  the  ground  that 
you  are  "  common,"  and  for  straightway  making  it 
your  heart's  dearest  desire  to  compel  that  person  to 
associate  with  you.  You  will  be  incredulous  when  I 
tell  you  my  sole  reason  was  my  hatred  and  horror  of 

144 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

what  seemed  to  me  the  degrading,  vulgar,  and  rotten 
longings  that  filled  my  wife  and  that  had  infected  my 
daughter.  That  hatred  and  horror  had  thrown  me 
into  a  state  of  mind  I  did  not  dare  confess  to  myself. 
You  are  incredulous ;  but  perhaps  you  will  admit  I  may 
be  truthful  when  I  explain  that  the  reason  for  my  moral 
and  sentimental  revolt  was  perhaps  in  large  part  my 
dense  ignorance  of  the  whole  society  side  of  life. 

No  doubt  in  the  Passaic  public  school  of  my  boy 
hood  there  had  been  as  much  snobbishness  as  there  is 
in  Fifth  Avenue.  But  I  had  somehow  never  happened 
to  notice  it.  It  must  have  been  there;  it  must  be  ele 
mental  in  human  nature ;  how  else  account  for  my  wife  ? 
We  hear  more  about  the  snobbishness  of  Fifth  Avenue 
than  we  do  about  the  snobbishness  of  the  tenements. 
But  that  is  solely  because  Fifth  Avenue  is  more  con 
spicuous.  Also,  Fifth  Avenue,  supposedly  educated, 
supposedly  broadened  by  knowledge  and  taste,  has  no 
excuse  for  petty  vanities  that  belong  only  to  the  igno 
rant.  And  if  Fifth  Avenue  were  really  educated,  really 
had  knowledge  and  taste,  it  could  not  be  snobbish. 
However,  my  busy  life  had  never  been  touched  by  social 
snobbishness.  I  preferred  to  know  and  to  associate 
with  men  better  educated  and  richer  than  I,  but  for 
excellent  practical  reasons — because  from  such  men  I 
could  get  the  knowledge  and  the  wealth  I  needed.  But 
I  would  not  have  wasted  a  moment  of  my  precious  time 
upon  the  men  most  exalted  in  fashionable  life — the  ig 
norant  incompetents  who  had  inherited  their  wealth. 
They  seemed  ridiculous  and  worthless  to  me,  a  man  of 
thought  and  action. 

145 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

So,  the  sudden  exposure  of  my  wife's  and  my  little 
girl's  disease  gave  me  a  shock  hardly  to  be  measured 
by  the  man  or  woman  used  all  his  life  to  the  social 
craze.  It  was  much  as  if  I  had  suddenly  seen  upon 
their  bared  bosoms  the  disgusting  ravages  of  cancer. 

As  I  could  not  devise  any  line  of  action  that,  how 
ever  faintly,  promised  results,  I  kept  away  from  home. 
I  absorbed  myself  in  some  new  enterprises  that  filled 
my  evenings,  which  I  spent  at  iny  club  with  the  men 
I  drew  into  them.  At  the  mention  of  club,  gentle 
reader,  I  see  your  ears  pricking.  You  are  wondering 
what  sort  of  club  7  belonged  to.  I  shall  explain. 

It  was  the  Amsterdam  Club.  You  may  have  seen 
and  gawked  at  its  vast  and  imposing  red  sandstone 
front  in  middle  Fif^h  Avenue.  As  you  drove  by  in  the 
"  rubber-neck  "  wagon,  the  man  with  the  megaphone 
may  have  shouted :  "  The  Amsterdam  Clab,  otherwise 
known  as  the  Palace  of  Plutocracy.  The  total  wealth 
of  its  members  is  one  tenth  of  the  total  wealth  of  the 
United  States.  Every  great  millionaire  in  New  York 
City  belongs  to  it.  The  reason  you  see  no  one  in  the 
magnificent  windows  is  because  the  plutocrats  are  afraid 
of  cranks  with  pistol  or  bomb."  And  you  stared  and  < 
envied  and  craned  your  neck  backward  as  the  sight 
seeing  car  rolled  on.  A  fairly  accurate  description 
of  my  club.  But  you  will  calm  as  I  go  on  to  tell 
you  the  inside  truth  about  it.  It  was  built  to  provide 
a  club  for  those  rich  men  of  New  York  who  had  no 
social  position,  and  so  could  not  be  admitted  to  the 
fashionable  clubs.  It  was  not  built  by  those  outcasts 

146 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

for  whom  it  was  intended,  but  by  the  rich  men  of  the 
fashionable  world.  They  did  not  build  it  out  of  pity 
nor  yet  out  of  generosity,  but  for  freedom  and  con 
venience. 

You  must  know  that  the  rich,  both  the  fashionables 
and  the  excludeds,  are  intimately  associated  in  business. 
Now,  in  the  days  before  the  Amsterdam  Club,  if  a  rich 
fashionable  wished  to  talk  business  out  of  office  hours 
with  a  rich  unfashionable,  he  had  to  take  him  to  his 
home  or  to  his  club,  one  or  the  other.  You  will  readily 
appreciate  that  either  course  involved  disagreeable  com 
plications.  The  rich  unfashionable  would  say :  "  Why 
am  I  not  invited  to  this  snob's  house  socially?  Why 
does  not  this  hound  see  that  I  am  elected  to  his  elegant 
club?  I'll  teach  this  wrinkle-snout  how  to  spit  at  me. 
I'll  slip  a  stiletto  into  his  back,  damn  him."  As  the 
number  of  rich  unfashionables  increased,  as  the  number 
of  stealthy  financial  stilettoings  for  social  insult  grew 
and  swelled,  the  demand  for  a  "  way  out "  became  more 
clamorous  and  panicky.  The  final  result  was  the  Am 
sterdam  Club — perhaps  by  inspiration,  perhaps  by  acci 
dent.  And  so  it  has  come  to  pass  that  now,  when  a 
rich  fashionable  wishes  to  talk  finance  with  a  rich  pariah, 
he  does  not  have  to  run  the  risk  of  defiling  his  home  or 
his  exclusive  club.  With  the  gracious  cordiality  where- 
for  aristocracy  is  famed  in  song  and  story,  he  says: 
"  Let  us  go  to  our  club  " — for,  the  rich  fashionables  see 
to  it  that  every  rich  pariah  is  elected  to  the  Amsterdam 
immediately  he  becomes  a  person  of  financial  conse 
quence.  And  I  fancy  that  not  one  in  ten  of  the  rich 
pariah  members  dreams  how  he  is  being  insulted  and 

147 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

tricked.  All,  or  nearly  all,  imagine  they  are  elected  by 
favor  of  the  great  fashionable  plutocrats  to  about  the 
most  exclusive  club  in  New  York.  Also,  not  one  in  a 
dozen  of  the  fashionable  members  appreciates  how  he  is 
degrading  himself — for,  to  my  quaint  mind,  the  snob 
degrades  only  himself. 

Well!  Not  many  months  after  we  moved  from 
Brooklyn  to  Manhattan  I  was  elected  to  the  Amster 
dam — I,  in  serene  ignorance  of  the  trick  that  was  being 
played  upon  me  by  my  sponsors,  associates  in  large 
financial  deals  and  members  of  several  exclusive  really 
fashionable  clubs.  They  pulled  regretful  faces  as  they 
talked  of  the  "  long  waiting  lists  at  most  of  the  clubs." 
They  brightened  as  they  spoke  of  the  Amsterdam — - 
"  the  finest  and,  take  it  all  round,  the  most  satisfactory 
of  the  whole  bunch,  old  man.  And  we  believe  we've  got 
pull  enough  to  put  you  in  there  pretty  soon.  We'll 
work  it,  somehow."  If  I  had  known  the  shrivel-hearted 
trick  behind  their  genial  friendliness,  I  should  not  have 
minded,  should  probably  have  laughed.  For,  human  lit 
tlenesses  do  not  irritate  me;  and  I  have  a  vanity — I 
prefer  to  call  it  a  pride — that  lifts  me  out  of  their 
reach.  I  am  of  the  one  aristocracy  that  is  truly  ex 
clusive,  the  only  one  that  needs  no  artificial  barriers 
to  keep  it  so.  But  I  shall  not  bore  you,  gentle  reader, 
by  explaining  about  it.  You  are  interested  only  in  the 
aristocracies  of  rank  and  title  and  wealth  that  are  noth 
ing  but  the  tawdry  realization  of  the  tawdry  fancies  of 
the  yokel  among  his  kine  and  the  scullery  maid  among 
her  pots.  For,  who  but  a  tossed-up  yokel  or  scullery 
maid  would  indulge  in  such  vulgarities  as  sitting  upon 

148 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  gold  throne  or  living  in  a  draughty,  cheerless  palace 
or  seeking  to  make  himself  more  ridiculous  by  aggra 
vating  his  littleness  with  a  title,  like  the  ass  in  the  lion's 
skin?  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  gentle  reader,  that 
aristocracy  is  essentially  common,  essentially  vulgar? 
To  a  large  vision  the  distinction  between  king  and 
carpenter,  between  the  man  with  a  million  dollars  and 
the  million  men  with  one  dollar  looks  trivial  and  un 
important.  Only  a  squat  and  squinting  soul  in  a  cellar 
and  blinking  through  the  twilight  could  discover  agi 
tating  differences  of  rank  between  Fifth  Avenue  and 
Grand  Street,  between  first  floor  front  and  attic  rear, 
between  flesh  ripening  to  rot  in  silk  and  flesh  ripen 
ing  to  rot  in  cotton.  To  an  infinitesimal  insect  an 
infinite  gulf  yawns  between  the  molecules  of  a  razor's 
edge. 

I  often  found  my  club  a  convenience,  for  in  those 
busiest  days  of  my  financial  career  I  had  much  private 
conferring — or  conspiring,  if  you  choose.  Never  had 
I  found  it  so  convenient  as  when  for  the  first  time  there 
was  pain  and  shrinking  at  the  thought  of  going  home, 
of  seeing  my  wife  and  Margot.  My  Margot!  When 
she  was  a  baby  how  proudly  I  had  wheeled  her  along 
the  sidewalks  of  Passaic  in  the  showy  perambulator  we 
bought  for  her — and  the  twenty-five  dollars  it  cost 
loomed  mighty  big  even  to  Edna.  And  in  Brooklyn, 
what  happy  Sundays  Edna  and  I  had  had  with  her, 
when  I  would  hire  a  buggy  at  the  livery  stable  round 
the  corner  and  we  would  go  out  for  the  day  to  some 
Long  Island  woods ;  or  when  we  would  take  her  down 
to  the  respectable  end  of  Coney  Island  to  dig  in  the 

149 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sand  and  to  wade  after  the  receding  tide.    My  MargotJ 
No  longer  mine;  never  again  to  be  mine. 

One  evening  I  had  an  appointment  at  the  Amster 
dam  with  a  Western  millionaire,  Charles  Murdock,  whom 
I  had  interested  in  a  Canada  railway  to  tap  a  Hudson 
Bay  spruce  forest.  He  was  having  trouble  with  his 
wife  and  something  of  it  had  come  out  in  the  afternoon 
newspapers.  At  the  last  moment  his  secretary — who, 
by  the  way,  afterwards  married  the  divorced  Mrs.  Mur 
dock — telephoned  that  Murdock  could  not  keep  his  en 
gagement  to  dine.  I  looked  about  for  some  one  to 
help  me  eat  the  dinner  I  had  ordered.  There  are  never 
many  disengaged  men  in  the  Amsterdam.  The  fashion 
able  rich  come  only  when  they  have  business  with  the 
pariahs.  The  pariahs  prefer  their  own  houses  or  the 
barrooms  and  cafes  of  the  big  hotels.  I  therefore 
thought  myself  lucky  when  I  found  Bob  Armitage 
sulking  in  a  huge  leather  chair  and  got  him  to  share 
my  dinner.  Armitage  was  one  of  my  railway  directors. 
He  had  helped  me  carry  through  the  big  stroke  that 
made  me,  had  joined  in  half  a  dozen  of  my  enterprises 
in  all  of  which  I  had  been  successful.  There  was  no 
man  of  my  acquaintance  I  knew  and  liked  so  well  as 
Armitage.  Yet  it  had  so  happened  that  we  had  never 
talked  much  with  each  other,  except  about  business. 

It  promised  to  be  a  silent  dinner.  IJe  was  as  deep 
in  his  thoughts  as  I  was  in  mine — and  our  faces  showed 
that  neither  of  us  was  cogitating  anything  cheerful. 
On  impulse  I  suddenly  said: 

"  Bob,  do  you  know  about  fashionable  New  York 
society?" 

150 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  knew  that  he  did;  that  is  to  say,  I  had  often 
heard  he  was  one  of  the  heavy  swells,  having  all  three 
titles  to  fashion — wealth,  birth,  and  marriage.  But  I 
now  pretended  ignorance  of  the  fact;  when  you  wish 
to  inform  yourself  thoroughly  on  a  subject  you  should 
always  select  an  expert,  tell  him  you  know  nothing  and 
bid  him  enlighten  you  from  the  alphabet  up. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  Armitage.  "Do  you 
want  to  get  in?  I  had  a  notion  you  didn't  care  for 
society — you  and  your  wife." 

Armitage  didn't  go  to  Holy  Cross,  but  to  St.  Bar 
tholomew's.  So  he  had  never  known  of  my  wife's  activ 
ities,  knew  only  the  sort  of  man  I  was. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,"  he  went  on.  "  You've  a  daughter 
almost  grown.  I  suppose  you  want  her  looked  after. 
All  right.  I'll  attend  to  it  for  you.  Your  wife  won't 
mind  my  wife's  calling?  I'd  have  sent  her  long  ago — 
in  fact,  I  apologize  for  not  having  done  it.  But  I 
hate  the  fashionable  crowd.  They  bore  me.  However, 
your  wife  may  like  them.  Women  usually  do." 

It  was  at  my  lips  to  thank  him  and  decline  his 
offer.  Then  it  flashed  into  my  mind  that  perhaps  my 
one  hope  of  getting  back  my  wife  and  daughter,  of 
restoring  them  to  sanity,  lay  in  letting  them  have  what 
they  wanted.  Another  sort  of  man  might  have  deluded 
himself  with  the  notion  that  he  could  set  his  foot  down, 
stamp  out  revolt,  compel  his  family  to  do  as  he  willed. 
But  I  happen  not  to  be  of  that  instinctively  tyrannical 
and  therefore  inherently  stupid  temperament. 

Armitage  ate  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then 
said: 

151 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I'll  have  you  elected  to  the  Federal  Club." 

"  This  club  is  all  I  need,"  said  I. 

He  smiled  sardonically.  I  didn't  understand  that 
smile  then,  because  I  didn't  know  anything  about  caste 
in  New  York.  "  You  let  me  look  after  you,"  said  he. 
"  You're  a  child  in  the  social  game." 

"  I've  no  objection  to  remaining  so,"  said  I. 

"  Quite  right.  There's  nothing  in  it,"  said  he. 
"  But  you  must  remember  you're  living  in  a  world  of 
rather  cheap  fools,  and  they  are  impressed  by  that 
nothing.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  the  social 
prizes  have  a  large  substantial  value.  Over  here  the 
value's  small.  Still  it's  something.  You  wouldn't  re 
fuse  even  a  trading  stamp,  would  you  ?  " 

I  laughed.  "  I  refuse  nothing,"  said  I.  "  I  take 
whatever's  offered  me.  If  I  find  I  don't  want  it,  why, 
what's  easier  than  to  throw  it  away?  " 

"  Then  I'll  put  you  in  the  Federal  Club.  You  could 
have  made  me  do  it,  if  you  had  happened  to  want  it. 
So,  why  shouldn't  I  do  it  anyhow,  in  appreciation 
of  your  forbearance?  You  don't  realize,  but  I'm 
doing  for  you  what  about  two  thirds  of  the  members 
of  this  club  would  lick  my  boots  to  get  me  to  do 
for  them." 

"  I  had  no  idea  the  taste  for  shoe  polish  was  so  gen 
eral  here,"  said  I. 

"  It's  a  human  taste,  my  dear  Loring,"  replied  he. 
"  It's  as  common  as  the  taste  for  bread.  All  the  men 
have  it.  As  for  the  women  they  like  nothing  so  well. 
Having  one's  boots  licked  is  the  highest  human  joy. 
Next  comes  licking  boots." 

152 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Yon  don't  believe  that?  "  said  I,  for  his  tone  was 
almost  too  bitter  for  jest. 

"  You  aren't  acquainted  with  your  kind,  old  man," 
retorted  he. 

"  I  don't  know  the  kind  you  know,"  said  I.  And 
then  I  remembered  my  wife  and  my  daughter.  There 
must  be  truth  in  what  Armitage  had  said;  for,  my 
beautiful  wife  and  my  sweet  daughter,  both  looking 
so  proud — surely  they  could  not  be  rare  exceptions 
in  their  insensibility  to  what  seemed  to  me  elemental 
self-respect. 

"  You  don't  know  your  kind,"  he  went  on,  "  because 
you  don't  indulge  in  cringing  and  don't  encourage  it. 
You're  like  the  cold,  pure-minded  woman  who  goes 
through  the  world  imagining  it  a  chaste  and  austere 
place  because  her  very  face  silences  and  awes  sensuality. 
You  are  part  of  the  small  advance  guard  of  a  race  that 
is  to  come."  He  grinned  satirically.  "  Perhaps  you'll 
drop  out  in  the  next  few  months.  We'll  see." 

When  the  silence  was  again  broken,  it  was  broken 
by  me.  "  Do  you  know  a  school  kept  by  a  woman  named 
Ryper  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Sure  I  do,"  replied  he.  He  gave  me  a  shrewd 
laughing  glance.  "  The  daughter  isn't  learning  any 
thing?  " 

"  Nothing  but  mischief,"  said  I. 

"  That's  what  Ryper's  for.  But  what  does  it  mat 
ter?  Why  should  a  woman  learn  anything?  They're 
of  no  consequence.  The  less  a  man  has  to  do  with  them 
the  better  off  he  will  be." 

"  They're  of  the  highest  consequence,"  said  I  bit- 
153 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

terly.  "  They  have  the  control  of  the  coming  genera 
tion." 

"  And  a  hell  of  a  generation  it's  to  be,"  cried  he, 
suddenly  rousing  from  the  state  of  bored  apathy  in 
which  he  seemed  to  pass  most  of  his  time.  "  You've  got 
me  started  on  the  subject  that's  a  craze  with  me.  I 
have  only  one  strong  feeling — and  that  is  my  contempt 
for  woman — the  American  woman.  I'm  not  speaking 
about  the  masses.  They  don't  count.  They  never  did. 
They  never  will.  No  one  counts  until  he  gets  some  edu 
cation  and  some  property.  I  suppose  the  women  of 
the  masses  do  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  But  how 
about  the  women  of  the  classes  with  education  and  prop 
erty?  Do  you  know  why  the  world  advances  so  slowly? 
— why  the  upper  classes  are  always  tumbling  back  and 
everything  has  to  be  begun  all  over  again  ?  " 

"  I've  a  suspicion,"  said  I.  "  Because  the  men  are 
fools  about  the  women." 

"  The  sex  question !  "  cried  Armitage.  "  That's 
the  only  question  worth  agitating  about.  Until  it's 
settled — or  begins  to  be  settled — and  settled  right,  it's 
useless  to  attempt  anything  else.  The  men  climb  up. 
The  women  they  take  on  their  backs  become  a  heavier 
and  heavier  burden — and  down  they  both  drop — and 
the  children  with  them.  Selfish,  vain,  extravagant  moth 
ers,  crazy  about  snobbishness,  bringing  up  their  chil 
dren  in  extravagance,  ignorance  and  snobbishness — 
that's  America  to-day !  " 

"  The  men  are  fools  about  the  women,  and  they  let 
the  women  make  fools  of  themselves." 

"  The  men  are  fools — but  not  about  the  women," 
154 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

said  Armitage.  "  How  much  time  and  thought  for 
your  family  have  you  averaged  daily  in  the  last  ten 
years  ?  " 

"  I've  been  busy,"  said  I.  "  I've  had  to  look  out 
for  the  bread  and  butter,  you  know." 

"  Exactly !  "  exclaimed  he,  in  triumph.  "  You 
think  you're  fond  of  your  family.  No  doubt  you  are. 
But  the  bottom  truth  is  you're  indifferent  to  your  fam 
ily.  I  can  prove  it  in  a  sentence:  You  attend  to  any 
thing  you  care  about;  and  you  haven't  attended  to 
them." 

I  stared  at  him  like  a  man  dazzled  by  a  sudden 
light — which,  in  fact,  I  was. 

"  Guilty  or  not  guilty  ?  "  said  he,  laughing. 

"  Guilty,"  said  I. 

"  The  American  man,  too  busy  to  be  bothered, 
turns  the  American  woman  loose — gives  her  absolute 
freedom.  And  what  is  she?  A  child  in  education,  a 
child  in  experience,  a  child  in  taste.  He  turns  her 
loose,  bids  her  do  as  she  likes — and,  up  to  the  limit  of 
his  ability  gives  her  all  the  money  she  wants.  He  pre 
fers  her  a  child.  Her  childishness  rests  his  tired  brain. 
And  he  doesn't  mind  if  she's  a  little  mischievous — that 
makes  her  more  amusing." 

"  You  are  married — have  children,"  said  I,  too 
serious  to  bother  about  tact.  "  How  is  it  with  you?  " 

He  laughed  cynically.  "  Don't  speak  of  my  fam 
ily,"  said  he.  "  I  tried  the  other  way.  But  I've  given 
up — several  years  ago.  What  can  one  do  in  a  crazy 
crowd?  " 

"  Not  much,"  confessed  I,  deeply  depressed. 
155 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  The  women  stampede  each  other,"  he  went  on. 
"  Besides,  no  American  woman — none  that  I  know — • 
has  been  brought  up  with  education  enough  to  enable 
her  to  make  a  life  for  herself,  even  when  the  man  tries 
to  help  her.  To  like  an  occupation,  to  do  anything 
at  it,  you've  got  to  understand  it.  Being  a  husband 
and  father  is  an  occupation,  the  most  important  one 
in  the  world  for  a  man.  Being  a  wife  and  mother  is 
an  occupation — the  most  important  one  in  the  world 
for  a  woman.  Are  American  men  and  women  brought 
up  to  those  occupations — trained  in  them — prepared 
for  them?  The  most  they  know  is  a  smatter  at  the 
pastime  of  lover  and  mistress — and  they're  none  too 
adept  at  that." 

"  I  believe,"  said  I,  "  that  in  my  whole  life  I've 
never  learned  so  much  in  so  short  a  time." 

"  It'll  do  you  no  good  to  have  learned,"  rejoined 
Armitage.  "  It  will  only  make  you  sad  or  bitter,  ac 
cording  to  your  mood.  Or,  perhaps  some  day  you 
may  reach  my  plane  of  indifference — and  be  amused." 

"  Nothing  is  hopeless,"  said  I. 

"  The  American  woman  is  hopeless,"  said  he. 
"  Her  vanity  is  triple-plated,  copper-riveted.  She's 
hopeless  so  long  as  the  American  man  will  give  her  the 
money  to  buy  flattery  at  home  and  abroad ;  for,  so  long 
as  you  can  buy  flattery,  you  never  find  out  the  truth 
about  yourself.  And  the  American  man  will  give  her 
the  money  as  long  as  he  can,  because  it  bmTs  him  peace 
and  freedom.  He  doesn't  want  to  be  bothered  with  the 
American  woman — except  when  he's  in  a  certain  mood 
that  doesn't  last  long." 

156 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  There  are  exceptions,"  said  I — not  clear  as  to 
what  I  meant. 

"  Yes — there  are  exceptions,"  said  he.  "  There 
are  American  men  who  spend  time  with  the  American 
woman.  And  what  does  she  do  to  them?  Look  at  the 
poor  asses ! — neglecting  their  business,  letting  their 
minds  go  to  seed.  They  don't  make  her  wise.  She 
makes  them  foolish — as  foolish  as  herself — and  her 
children." 

You  may  perhaps  imagine  into  what  a  state  this 
talk  of  Armitage's  threw  me.  He  was  talking  generali 
ties.  But  every  word  he  spoke  went  straight  home  to 
me.  He  had  torn  the  coverings  from  my  inmost  family 
life,  had  exposed  its  soul,  naked  and  ugly,  to  my  fas 
cinated  gaze. 

He  finished  dinner,  lighted  a  cigarette — sat  back 
watching  me  with  a  mysterious  smile,  half  amused, 
wholly  sympathetic,  upon  his  handsome  face,  younger 
than  his  forty-five  years — for  he  was  considerably 
older  than  I.  I  was  hardly  more  than  barely  conscious 
of  that  look  of  his,  or  of  his  presence.  Suddenly  I 
struck  my  fist  with  violence  upon  the  arm  of  my  chair. 
And  I  said: 

"  I  will  do  something !     It  is  not  hopeless  !  " 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  at  the  same  time  exhal 
ing  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "  I  tried,  Godfrey,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  had  a  better  chance  of  success  than  you  could 
possibly  have.  For  my  wife  had  been  brought  up  by  a 
sensible  father  and  mother  in  a  sensible  way,  and  she 
had  been  used  to  fashionable  society  all  her  life  and, 
when  I  married  her,  seemed  to  have  proved  herself  im- 
11  157 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

mime.  A  few  years  and — '  His  cynical  smile  may 
not  have  been  genuine.  "  She  leads  the  simpletons. 
But  you'll  see  for  yourself." 

"  When  you  know  what  to  do,  and  feel  as  you  do," 
said  I,  "  why  did  you  suggest  our  going  into  your 
society?  " 

"  It  isn't  mine,"  laughed  he.  "  It's  my  wife's.  It 
doe%sn't  belong  to  the  men.  It  belongs  to  the  women." 

"  Into  your  wif e's  society  ?  "  persisted  I. 

"Why  did  I  suggest  it?  Because  I  wished  to 
please  you,  and  I  know  you  like  to  please  your  wife. 
And  she's  an  American  woman — therefore,  society 
mad.  She  has  her  daughter  at  the  Ryper  joint,  hasn't 
she?  " 

I  sat  morosely  silent. 

"  Oh,  come  now !  Cheer  up !  "  cried  he,  with  laugh 
ing  irony.  "  After  all,  you  can't  blame  the  American 
woman.  She  has  no  training  for  the  career  of  woman. 
She  has  no  training  for  any  serious  career.  She's  got 
to  do  something,  hasn't  she?  Well,  what  is  there  open 
to  her  but  the  career  of  lady?  That  doesn't  call  for 
brains  or  for  education  or  for  taste.  The  dressmaker 
and  milliner  supply  the  toilet.  The  architect  and  dec 
orator  and  housekeeper  and  staff  supply  the  grand  back 
ground.  Father  or  husband  supplies  the  cash.  A  dip 
into  a  novel  or  book  of  culture  essays  supplies  the  gib- 
ble-gabble.  A  nice  easy  profession,  is  lady — and  uni 
versally  admired  and  envied.  No,  Loring,  it  isn't  fair 
to  blame  her." 

We  strolled  down  Fifth  Avenue.  After  he  had 
watched  the  stream  of  elegant  carriages  and  automo- 

158 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

biles,  some  of  the  too  elegant  automobiles  having  their 
interiors  brightly  lighted  that  the  passersby  might  not 
fail  to  see  the  elaborate  toilets  of  the  occupants — after 
he  had  observed  this  procession  of  extravagance  and 
vanity,  with  only  an  occasional  derisive  laugh  or 
"  Look  there !  Don't  miss  that  lady !  "  he  burst  out 
again  in  his  pleasantly  ironical  tone: 

"  How  fat  the  women  are  getting ! — the  automobile 
women !  And  how  the  candy  shops  are  multiplying. 
Candy  and  automobiles ! — and  culture.  Let  us  not  for 
get  culture." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I  grimly.  "  Let's  not  forget 
the  culture." 

"  I  was  telling  my  wife  yesterday,"  said  Armitage, 
"  what  culture  is.  It  is  talking  in  language  that  means 
nothing  about  things  that  mean  less  than  nothing.  But 
watch  the  ladies  stream  by,  all  got  up  in  their  gor 
geous  raiment  and  jewels.  What  have  they  ever  done, 
what  are  they  doing,  that  entitles  them  to  so  much  more 
than  their  poor  sisters  scuffling  along  on  the  sidewalk 
here?" 

"  They've  talked  and  are  talking  about  culture," 
said  I.  "  Arid  don't  forget  charity." 

"  Ah — charity !  "  cried  he  gayly.  "  Thank  you.  I 
see  we  understand  each  other."  He  linked  his  arm  af 
fectionately  in  mine.  "Charity!  It's  the  other  half 
of  a  lady's  occupation.  Charity!  Having  no  fancy 
for  attending  to  her  own  business,  she  meddles  in  the 
business  of  the  poor,  tempting  them  to  become  liars 
and  paupers.  Your  fine  lady  is  a  professional  patron- 
izer.  She  has  ,no  usefulness  to  contribute  to  the  world., 

159 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

So,  she  patronizes — the  arts  with  her  culture — the 
poor  with  her  charity,  and  the  human  race  with  her 
snobbishness." 

He  was  so  amused  by  his  train  of  thought  that  he 
lapsed  into  silence  the  more  fully  to  enjoy  it;  for,  every 
thought  has  its  shadings  that  cannot  be  expressed  in 
words  yet  give  the  keenest  enjoyment.  When  he  spoke 
again,  it  was  to  repeat : 

"  And  what  have  these  ladies  done  to  entitle  them 
to  this  luxury?  Are  they,  perchance,  being  paid  for 
giving  to  the  world,  and  for  inspiring,  the  noble  sons 
and  daughters  who  drive  coaches  and  marry  titles  ?  " 

"  But  what  do  we  men  do  ?  What  do  /  do — that 
entitles  me  to  so  much  more  than  that  chap  perched 
on  the  hansom?  I  often  think  of  it.  Don't  you?  " 

"  Never,"  laughed  Armitage.  "  I  never  claw  my 
own  sore  spots.  There's  no  fun  in  that.  Always  claw 
the  other  fellow's.  There's  a  laugh  and  distraction  for 
your  own  troubles  in  seeing  him  wince." 

"  Is  that  why  you've  been  clawing  mine?  "  said  I. 

We  were  pausing  before  his  big  house,  at  the  cor 
ner  of  the  Avenue.  "  If  I  have  been  I  didn't  know  it," 
said  he.  He  glanced  up  at  his  windows  with  a  satirical 
smile.  "  This  evening  I've  been  breaking  my  rule  and 
clawing  at  my  own."  He  put  out  his  hand.  "  Let  the 
social  business  take  its  course,"  advised  he  with  impress 
ive  friendliness.  "  You  and  I  can't  make  the  world 
over.  To  fight  against  the  inevitable  merely  increases 
everyone's  discomfort." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,"  said  I. 

I  agreed  with  his  conclusion  that  it  was  best  to  let 
160 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

things  alone,  though  I  reached  that  conclusion  by  a 
different  route.  I  had  in  mind  my  forlorn  hope  of  good 
results  from  a  homeopathic  treatment.  I  saw  how  im 
possible  it  was  to  undo  the  practically  completed  train 
ing  of  a  grown  girl.  I  appreciated  the  absurdity  of 
an  attempt  radically  to  change  Edna's  character — an 
absurdity  as  great  as  an  attempt  to  make  her  a  foot 
taller  or  to  alter  the  color  of  her  eyes.  The  one  hope* 
it  seemed  to  me — and  I  still  think  I  was  right — was 
that,  when  they  had  social  position,  when  there  should 
no  longer  be  excuse  for  fretting  lest  some  one  were 
thinking  them  common,  they  might  calm  down  toward 
some  sort  of  sanity. 

Bear  in  mind,  please,  that  at  the  time  I  did  not 
have  the  situation,  nor  any  idea  of  it,  and  of  how  to 
deal  with  it,  definitely  and  clearly  in  mind.  I  was 
groping,  was  seeing  dimly,  was  not  even  sure  that  I 
saw  at  all.  I  was  like  a  thousand  other  busy  American 
men  who,  after  years  of  absorption  in  affairs,  are 
abruptly  and  rudely  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there 
is  something  wrong  at  home  where  they  had  been  flat 
tering  themselves  everything  was  all  right. 

The  things  Armitage  had  said  occupied  my  mind, 
almost  to  the  exclusion  of  my  business.  The  longer 
I  revolved  them,  the  better  I  understood  the  situation 
at  home.  I  could  not  but  wonder  what  wretched  catas 
trophe  in  his  domestic  life  had  made  him  so  insultingly 
bitter  against  women.  I  felt  that  he  was  unfair  to 
them ;  any  judgment  that  condemned  a  class  for  pos 
sessing  universal  human  weakness  must  be  unfair.  At 
the  same  time  I  believed  he  had  excuse  for  being  un- 

161 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

!^3g 

fair — the  excuse  of  a  man  whose  domestic  life  is  in 
ruins.  I  began  to  see  toward  the  bottom  of  the  woman 
question — the  nature  and  the  cause  of  the  crisis 
through  which  women  were  passing. 

The  modern  world,  as  I  had  read  history  enough 
to  know,  had  suddenly  and  completely  revolutionized 
the  conditions  of  life.  The  male  sex,  though  poorly 
where  at  all  equipped  to  meet  the  new  conditions,  still 
was  compelled  to  meet  them  after  a  fashion.  A  river 
that  for  ages  has  moved  quietly  along  in  a  deep  bed, 
all  in  a  night  swells  to  many  times  its  former  size  and 
plays  havoc  with  the  surrounding  country.  That  was 
a  fairly  good  figure  for  the  new  life  science  and  ma 
chinery  had  suddenly  forced  upon  the  human  race. 
The  men  living  in  the  inundated  region — where  floods 
were  unknown,  where  appliances,  even  ideas  for  com 
bating  them  did  not  exist — the  men,  hastily,  hyster 
ically,  incompetently,  but  with  resolution  and  persist 
ence,  because  forced  by  dire  necessity,  would  proceed 
to  deal  with  that  vast  new  river.  Just  so  were  the  men 
of  our  day  dealing  with  the  life  of  steam  and  electricity, 
of  ancient  landmarks  of  religion  and  morality  swept 
away  or  shifted,  of  ancient  industrial  and  social  rela 
tions  turned  upside  down  and  inside  out.  The  men 
were  coping  with  the  situation  after  a  fashion.  But 
the  women? 

These  unfortunate  creatures,  faced  with  the  new 
conditions,  were  in  their  greater  ignorance  and  in* 
capacity  and  helplessness,  trying  to  live  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred! — as  if  the  old  order  still  existed.  And 
the  men,  partly  through  ignorance,  partly  through  pre- 
162 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

occupation  with  the  new  order,  partly  through  indif 
ference  and  contempt  veiled  as  consideration  for  the 
weaker  sex,  were  encouraging  them  in  their  fatal  folly. 
Was  it  strange  that  the  women  were  deceived,  remained 
unconscious  of  their  peril?  No,  it  was  on  the  contrary 
inevitable.  When  men,  though  working  away  under 
and  at  the  new  conditions,  still  talked  as  if  the  old  con 
ditions  prevailed,  when  preachers  still  preached  that 
way,  and  orators  still  eulogized  the  thing  that  was 
dead  and  buried  as  if  it  lived  and  reigned,  when  in  or 
der  to  find  out  the  change  you  had  to  disregard  the 
speech,  the  professions,  the  confident  assertions  of  all 
mankind  and  observe  closely  their  actions  only — when 
there  was  this  universal  unawareness  and  unprepared- 
ness,  how  could  the  poor  women  be  condemned? 

I  could  not  but  admit  to  myself  that  in  his  account 
of  the  doings  of  the  wcrmen  Armitage  was  only  slightly 
if  at  all  exaggerating.  But  with  my  more  judicial 
temperament  that  had  won  me  fortune  and  leadership 
while  hardly  more  than  a  youth,  I  could  not  join  him 
in  damning  the  women  for  their  folly  and  idleness  and 
uselessness. 

So,  the  immediate  result  of  Armitage's  talk  was  a 
gentler  and  thoroughly  tolerant  frame  of  mind  toward 
my  wife,  both  as  to  herself  and  as  to  what  she  had  done 
to  our  daughter.  After  all,  I  had  for  wife  only  the 
typical  woman — and  a  rarely  sweet  and  charming  ex 
ample  of  the  type.  And  my  daughter  was  no  worse, 
perhaps  was  better,  than  the  average  girl  of  her  age 
and  position.  What  did  I  think  I  had — or  ought  to 
have — in  the  way  of  wife  and  daughter,  anyhow? 

163 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

What  was  this  vague,  sentimental  dream  of  family  life? 
If  I  were  by  some  magic  to  find  myself  possessed  of  the 
sort  of  family  I  thought  I  wanted,  wouldn't  I  be  more 
dissatisfied  than  at  present?  When  I  had  a  wife  and 
a  daughter  who  looked  so  well  and  did  nothing  but 
what  everyone  around  me  regarded  as  right  and 
proper,  was  I  not  unjust  in  my  discontent? 

I  had  not  seen  Edna  or  Margot  for  several  days  be 
fore  my  talk  with  Bob  Armitage.  I  did  not  see  Edna 
for  several  days  afterwards,  though  I  dined  at  home 
every  evening  and  did  not  go  out  after  dinner.  I  was 
debating  how  to  make  overtures  toward  a  reconcilia 
tion  when  she  came  into  my  study.  She  had  an  air  of 
coldness  and  constraint — the  air  of  the  woman  who  is 
inflicting  severe  punishment  upon  an  offending  husband 
by  withholding  herself  from  him.  She  said: 

"  Mrs.  Robert  Armitage  has  asked  me  to  dine  on 
Thursday  evening." 

I  replied  hesitatingly :  "  Thursday —  I've  an  en 
gagement  for  Thursday — a  dinner." 

In  her  agitation  she  did  not  note  that  I  had  not 
finished.  Dropping  her  coldness,  she  flashed  out 
fiercely : 

"  We've  simply  got  to  accept !  It's  our  chance. 
We  may  not  have  it  again.  It's  what  I've  been  waiting 
for  ever  since  we  moved  to  this  house.  And  I  can't  go 
alone.  Oh,  how  selfish  you  are!  You  never  think  of 
anything  but  your  own  comfort.  And  you  can't  or 
won't  realize  any  of  the  higher  things  of  life  for  which 
I'm  striving.  It  is  too  horrible !  " 

If  any  male  reader  of  this  story  has  known  a 
164 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

woman  who  was,  up  to  a  certain  time,  always  able  to 
rouse  a  strong  emotion  in  him — of  love  or  anger,  of 
pleasure  or  pain — a  woman  toward  whom  he  could  not 
be  lukewarm,  and  if  that  reader  can  recall  the  day  on 
which  he  faced  that  woman  in  a  situation  of  stress  and 
found  himself  calm  and  patient  and  kind  toward 
her- 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  Edna  was  not  moving 
me.  Her  loveliness  did  not  stir  a  single  tiny  flame  of 
passion.  Her  abuse  did  not  excite  resentment  or  dread. 
"  Just  a  moment,  my  dear,"  said  I  with  the  tranquillity 
of  a  judge.  "  I  was  trying  to  say  that  I  would  break 
my  engagement." 

I  saw  that  she  did  not  believe  me  but  imagined  her 
outburst  had  terrified  and  cowed  me  into  submission. 
How  dispassionately  I  observed  and  judged! 

"  Accept,  if  you  wish,"  I  went  on.  "  I  like  Armi- 
tage.  We've  been  friends  for  years." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so?"  demanded  she. 
"  Why  have  you  been  plotting  against  me  all  this 
time?" 

"  You  forbade  me  to  speak  of  business,"  said  I. 
"  So  I  have  never  spoken  of  my  business  friends." 

Her  anger  against  me  was  almost  beyond  control. 
If  she  had  been  a  lady  born,  if  she  had  not  had  a  past 
to  live  down,  a  childhood  of  vulgar  surroundings  and 
actions,  she  would  have  given  way  and  abused  like  a 
fish  wife.  A  lady  born  dares  excesses  of  passion  that 
a  made  lady,  with  her  deep  reverence  for  the  ladylike, 
would  shrink  from.  She  said  through  clinched  teeth: 

"  I  find  out  that  Mrs.  Armitage,  the  leader  of  the 
165 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

younger  set,  the  most  fashionable  woman  in  New  York, 
has  been  eager  to  know  me  for  a  long  time.  And  you 
have  been  preventing  it !  " 

"How?"  said  I,  amused,  but  not  showing  it. 

"  She  called  here  the  other  day.  She  was  as  friend 
ly  as  could  be.  We  became  friends  at  once.  She  said 
that  for  months  she  had  been  at  her  husband  to  get 
her  leave  to  call  on  me,  but  that  he  and  you,  between 
you,  had  neglected  to  arrange  it." 

I  saw  how  this  notion  of  the  matter  delighted  her, 
and  that  the  truth  would  enrage  her,  would  make  her 
dislike  me  more  than  ever.  So,  I  held  my  peace  and 
thought,  for  the  first  time,  I  believe,  how  tiresome  a 
woman  without  a  sense  of  humor  could  become — how 
tryingly  -tiresome. 

"  She  and  I  are  going  to  do  a  lot  of  things  to 
gether,"  continued  Edna  in  the  same  intense  humorless 
way.  "  I  always  knew  that  if  I  got  a  chance  to  talk 
with  one  of  those  women  who  could  appreciate  me,  I'd 
have  no  further  trouble.  I  knew  I  was  wasting  time 
on  those  religious  fakirs  and  frumps,  but  I  was  always 
hoping  that  through  them  I'd  somehow  meet  a  woman 
of  my  own  sort.  Now  I've  met  her,  and  something  tells 
me  I'll  have  no  further  trouble." 

"  Probably  you're  right,"  said  I. 

"  How  it  infuriates  me,"  she  went  on,  "  to  think 
I'd  have  been  spared  all  the  humiliations  and  heart 
aches  I've  suffered,  if  you  had  used  your  influence  with 
Robert  Armitage  months — years  ago.  But  no — you 
don't  want  me  to  get  on.  You  wanted  to  stick  in  the 
mud.  So  I  had  to  suffer — and  Margot,  too." 

166 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Well,  it's  all  right  now,"  said  I,  probably  as  in 
differently  as  I  felt.  Why  had  God  seen  fit  to  create 
women  without  the  sense  of  humor?  Perhaps  to 
save  men  from  falling  altogether  under  their  rule. 

"  The  sufferings  of  that  poor  child !  "  cried  Edna. 
"  And  the  very  day  after  Mrs.  Armitage  came,  Gracie 
Fortescue  asked  her  to  a  party,  and  all  the  girls  have 
taken  her  up.  Gracie  Fortescue  is  a  niece  of  Hilda 
Armitage.  Her  brother  married  a  Fortescue." 

"  Really?  "  said  I.     "  And  Margot  is  happy?  " 

"  No  thanks  to  you,"  retorted  Edna  sourly. 

"  Well,  plunge  in,  my  dear,"  said  I,  beginning  to  ex 
amine  the  papers  before  me  on  the  desk.  "  Only — spare 
me  as  much  as  possible.  I  need  all  my  time  and  strength 
for  my  work." 

"  But  you'll  have  to  go  with  me  to  dinners,  and  to 
the  opera  occasionally.  I  can't  do  this  thing  altogether 
alone." 

"  Say  I'm  an  invalid.  Say  I'm  away.  They  don't 
want  me,  anyhow.  Armitage  doesn't  go  with  his  wife." 

"  But  that's  different,"  cried  she  in  a  fever.  "  She 
has  always  had  social  position.  It  doesn't  matter  if 
people  do  talk  scandal  about  her.  I  can't  afford  to 
cause  gossip." 

"  Why  should  they  gossip  ?  But  no  matter.  I 
don't  want  to  worry  with  that — that  higher  life,  let  us 
call  it.  Or  to  be  worried  with  it.  Do  the  best  you 
can  for  me.  I'm  a  man's  man — always  have  been — al 
ways  shall  be.  If  you've  got  to  have  a  man  to  take 
you  about,  dig  up  one  somewhere.  I'm  willing  to  pay 
him  well." 

167 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Always  money !  "  exclaimed  she  in  deep  disgust. 

I  laughed.     "  Not  a  bad  thing,  money,"  said  I. 

"  It  would  never  have  got  me  Mrs.  Armitage's 
friendship,"  said  she  loftily. 

"You  think  so?"  said  I  amiably.  "All  right,  if 
it  pleases  you.  But — take  my  advice,  my  dear — enjoy 
yourself  to  the  limit  with  highfaluting  talk  about  the 
worthlessness  of  money  and  that  sort  of  rot.  But  don't 
for  a  minute  lose  your  point  of  view  and  convince 
yourself." 

"  Thank  God  I've  got  a  vein  of  refinement,  of  ideal 
ism  in  my  nature,"  said  Edna.  "  I  wouldn't  have  as 
sordid  an  opinion  of  human  nature  as  you  have  for  any 
thing  in  the  world." 

"  You  can  afford  not  to  have  it,  my  dear,"  said  I. 
"  So  long  as  I  know  the  truth,  and  so  make  the  neces 
sary  money  to  keep  us  going,  you  are  free  to  indulge 
your  lovely  delusions.  Have  your  beautiful,  unmer- 
cenary  friendship  with  Mrs.  Armitage  and  the  other 
ladies.  I'll  continue  to  make  it  financially  worth  their 
husbands'  while  to  encourage  the  friendships." 

"I  thought  so!"  cried  she.  "You  believe  Mrs. 
Armitage  has  taken  me  up  for  business  reasons." 

"  If  you  had  been  some  poor  woman — "  I  began 
mildly. 

"  Don't  be  absurd !  "  cried  my  wife.  "  How  could 
there  be  an  equal  and  true  friendship  between  Mrs. 
Armitage  and  a  woman  with  none  of  the  surroundings 
of  a  lady,  and  with  no  means  of  gratifying  the  tastes 
of  a  lady  ?  But  that  doesn't  mean  that  Mrs.  Armitage 
is  a  low,  sordid  woman.  She  has  a  beautiful  nature. 

168 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Money  is  merely  the  background  of  high  society.  It 
simply  gives  ladies  and  gentlemen  the  opportunity  to 
set  the  standards  of  dress  and  manners  and  taste.  And 
of  course  they're  careful  whom  they  associate  with. 
Who  wants  to  be  annoyed  by  adventurers  and  climbers 
and  all  sorts  of  dreadful  mercenary,  self-seeking 
people?  " 

"Who,  indeed?"  said  I. 

It  gently  appealed  to  my  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  to 
see  my  wife  thus  changed  in  a  twinkling  into  a  defender 
and  exponent  of  fashionable  society.  It  was  so  deli- 
ciously  feminine,  as  fantastically  humorless,  her  sincere 
belief  in  the  poppycock  she  was  reeling  off — the  twaddle 
with  which  Mrs.  Armitage  had  doubtless  stuffed  her. 
The  sordidness,  the  vulgarity,  the  meanness,  the  petty 
cruelty,  the  snobbishness  of  fashionable  people — all  for 
gotten  in  a  moment,  hastily  covered  deep  with  the  gilt 
and  the  tinsel  of  hypocritical  virtues.  What  an  amus 
ing  ass  the  human  animal  is !  How  stupidly  uncon 
scious  of  its  own  motives !  How  eagerly  it  attributes  to 
itself  all  kinds  of  high  motives  for  the  ordinary,  or 
scrubby,  or  downright  mean  actions — and  attributes 
the  same  motives  to  its  fellow  asses,  to  make  its  own 
pretenses  the  more  plausible !  An  amusing  ass — but  it 
would  be  more  amusing  if  it  were  not  so  monotonously 
solemn,  but  laughed  at  itself  occasionally. 

However 

The  atmosphere  of  our  home  now  steadily  improved. 
The  servants  began  to  respect  us,  where  they  had  de 
spised  and  had  scarcely  troubled  themselves  to  conceal 
their  contempt.  The  cook  sent  up  more  attractive — 

169 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

though  I  fear  even  less  digestible — dishes.     The  butler 

addressed  me  with  a  gratifying  servility.     The  maids 

developed  unexpected  talents,  showing  acquaintance  with 

the  needs  and  customs  of  a  fashionable  household.     The 

housekeeper's  soul  dropped  from  its  theretofore  inso- 

jlently  erect  posture  to  all  fours,  and  she  attended  to 

1  her  duties.     Edna  became  sweet  and  gracious.     Margot 

grew  merry  and  affectionate.     All  the  result  of  Mrs. 

Armitage.     We  had  been  pariahs ;  we  were  of  the  elect. 

I  saw  and  felt  the  change  distinctly  at  the  time. 

But  it  is  only  in  retrospect  that  I  take  the  full  measure 

— get  its  full  humor — and  pathos. 

That  Armitage  dinner  was  the  event  of  Edna's  life. 
She  had  been  born ;  she  had  married ;  she  had  given 
birth — all  memorable  and  important  occurrences.  But 
this  formal  debut  in  fashionable  society  topped  them 
as  the  peak  tops  the  foothills.  Having  seen  her  quiv 
ering  and  hysterical  excitement  when  we  were  leaving 
the  house,  I  feared  a  breakdown.  I  marveled  at  her 
apparent  calmness  and  ease  as  we  entered  the  dining 
room  of  the  Armitages.  Never  had  she  looked  so  well. 
If  Mrs.  Armitage  had  not  been  a  self-satisfied  beauty 
of  the  dark  type  she  might  have  demolished  Edna's 
dream  in  its  very  realizing.  But  no  doubt  Edna,  the 
shrewd,  had  duly  measured  Hilda  Armitage  and  had  dis 
covered  that  it  was  safe  to  make  her  proud  of  the  woman 
she  had  taken  under  protection  and  patronage. 

There  were  but  a  dozen  people  in  all  at  the  dinner. 
It  did  not  seem  to  be  much  of  an  affair.  The  drawing- 
room  was  plain — nothing  gaudy,  nothing  costly  look- 

170 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing.  Our  own  dining  room  was  much  grander — to  our 
then  uneducated  taste.  The  guests  were — just  people 
— simple,  good-natured  mortals,  perfectly  at  their  ease 
and  putting  us  at  our  ease.  You  would  have  wondered, 
after  five  minutes  of  that  company,  how  anyone  could 
possibly  find  any  difficulty  in  getting  intimately  ac 
quainted  with  them.  But,  as  Edna  knew  at  a  glance, 
she  and  I  were  in  the  midst  of  the  innermost  and  small 
est  circle  of  the  many  circles  one  within  another  that 
make  up  New  York  fashionable  society.  If  on  the 
recommendation  of  the  Armitages  we  should  have  the 
good  fortune  to  be  accepted  by  that  circle  of  circles, 
that  circle  within  the  circles,  there  would  be  nothing 
of  a  social  nature  left  for  us  to  conquer  in  New  York. 
I  was  ignorant  of  all  this  at  the  time ;  had  I  known, 
I  imagine  I  should  have  remained  tranquil.  But  Edna 
knew  at  a  glance;  she  had  been  studying  these  matters 
for  years.  It  shows  what  force  of  character  she  had 
that  she  conducted  herself  as  if  it  were  the  most  ordi 
nary  and  familiar  occasion  of  her  life.  She  had  always 
said,  even  away  back  in  the  days  of  the  grand  forty- 
dollars-a-month  flat  in  Passaic,  that  she  belonged  at 
the  social  top.  She  was  undoubtedly  right.  The  way 
she  acted  when  she  arrived  there  proved  it. 

You  do  not  often  have  the  chance,  gentle  reader,  to 
get  so  well  acquainted  with  any  human  being  as  I  have 
enabled  you  to  get  with  Edna.  Probably  you  do  not 
even  know  yourself  so  well.  Therefore  I  suspect  that 
you  have  a  wholly  false  notion  of  her — think  her  in 
every  way  much  worse  relatively  than  she  was.  Through 
your  novels  and  through  the  reports  your  dim  eyes 

171 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

bring'  to  your  narrow  and  shallow  mind,  you  have  ac 
quired  certain  habits   of  judging  your  fellow  beings. 

You  attach  inflated  importance  to  their  unimportant 
surface  qualities — physical  appearance,  pleasant  voice 
and  manner — and  to  their  amiable  little  hypocrisies  of 
apparent  sweetness  and  generosity  and  friendliness. 
You  do  not  see  the  real  person — the  human  being.  You,  j 
being  by  training  a  hypocrite  and  a  believer  in  hypoc 
risies,  scorn  human  beings.  Now  I  prefer  them  to  the 
sort  of  people  with  whom  you  and  your  false  literature 
populate  the  world.  In  making  you  acquainted  with 
Edna — and  the  others  in  my  story — I  have  not  intro 
duced  you  to  bad  people,  monsters,  but  to  real  beings 
of  usual  types,  probably  on  the  whole  superior  to  your 
smug  self  in  all  the  good  qualities.  Had  you  seen  Edna 
in  the  Armitage  house  that  evening  you  would  have 
thought  her  as  incapable  of  calculation  and  snobbish 
ness  as — well,  as  any  of  the  others  in  that  company 
whose  whole  lives  were  made  up  of  calculation  and  snob 
bishness.  She — and  they — looked  so  refined  and  ele 
vated.  She — and  they — talked  so  high-mindedly.  I, 
who  knew  almost  nothing  at  that  time  except  business, 
was  listener  rather  than  talker;  and  you  may  be  sure 
such  a  man  as  I,  having  such  ignorance  as  mine  to  cover 
up,  had  in  years  of  practice  become  somewhat  adept  in 
that  saving  art  for  the  intelligent  ignorant.  But 
Edna 

She,  the  most  expert  of  smatterers,  fairly  shone. 
With  her  beauty  and  vivacity,  her  eloquent  eyes  and 
dazzling  smile,  and  exquisite  bare  shoulders,  to  aid  her, 
she  created  an  impression  of  brilliancy. 

172 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

"  You  had  a  good  time?  "  said  I,  when  we  were  in  the 
motor  for  the  home  journey. 

"  I  never  had  as  good  a  time  in  my  life,"  she  ex 
claimed,  her  voice  tremulous  with  ecstasy.  "  Did  I  look 
well?" 

"  Never  so  well,"  said  I.    "  And  you  made  a  hit." 

"  I  was  careful  to  cultivate  the  women,"  said  she. 
"  I've  got  to  get  the  women." 

"  You've  got  them,"  I  declared  sincerely. 

"You're  sure  I  didn't  make  some  of  them  jealous? 
Did  you  see  any  signs  ?  " 

"  They  liked  you,"  said  I. 

"  I  had  to  play  my  cards  well,"  pursued  she.  "  It 
was  a  difficult  position.  I  was  far  and  away  the  best 
looking  woman  there,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Mrs.  Armitage.  Did  you  hear  her  call  me  Edna?  " 

"  You  and  Mrs.  Armitage  look  well  together.  Y"ou 
are  of  about  the  same  figure,  and  the  contrast  of  color 
ing  is  very  good." 

"  That's  why  we  took  to  each  other  so  quickly. 
Each  of  us  sets  off  the  other." 

"  How  did  you  like  Armitage  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  well  enough,"  said  she  indifferently.  "  I 
hardly  noticed  him — or  the  other  men.  I  had  my  game 
to  play.  The  men  don't  count  in  the  social  game.  It's 
the  women.  I  shall  be  nervous  until  I  find  out  whether 
I  really  got  them.  •  They  are  such  cats ! — so  mean  and 
sly  and  jealous.  I  detest  women!" 

"  I  prefer  men,  myself,"  said  I. 

"  Men !  "  She  laughed  scornfully.  "  I  think  men 
are  intolerable — American  men.  They  say  foreigners 
U3  173 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

are  better.  But  American  men — they  know  nothing 
but  dull  business  or  politics.  They  have  no  breadth — 
no  idealism.  The  women  are  far  superior  to  the  men.9' 

I  laughed.  "  No  doubt  you  women  are  too  good 
for  us,"  said  I  carelessly.  "  We're  grateful  that  you 
don't  scorn  us  too  much  even  to  accept  our  money." 

"  How  coarse  that  is !  Don't  spoil  the  happiest 
evening  of  my  life." 

We  were  at  home,  so  she  could  escape  from  me. 
And  I,  for  my  part,  was  as  glad  to  be  quit  of  her  so 
ciety  as  she  could  possibly  have  been  to  get  rid  of  me. 
I  was  beginning  to  realize  that  her  conversation  bored 
me,  that  it  had  always  bored  me,  that  it  was  her  sex 
and  only  her  sex  that  interested  me.  And  latterly  even 
this  had  lost  its  charm.  Why? 

I  have  observed — and  perhaps  you  have  observed  it, 
too — that  people  of  wealth  and  position,  unless  they 
have  very  striking  individuality  indeed,  are  usually  ut 
terly  devoid  of  charm.  It  is  difficult  to  become  interested 
in  them,  to  establish  any  sort  of  sympathetic  current. 
And  you  will  notice  that  fashionable  functions  are  dull, 
essentially  dull;  that  the  animation  is  artificial,  is  sup 
plied  from  without  by  an  orchestra  or  entertainers,  and 
fails  to  infect  the  company.  It  was  long  before  I  dis-  f 
covered  the  explanation  for  this.  I  at  first  thought  it 
was  the  stupidity  that  comes  from  a  surfeit  of  the 
luxuries  and  pleasures.  But  I  am  now  convinced  that 
this  familiar  explanation  is  not  the  true  one ;  that  the 
true  one  is  the  excessive,  the  really  preposterous  self- 
centeredness  of  people  of  rank  and  wealth.  From  wak 
ing  until  sleeping  they  are  surrounded  by  hirelings  and 

174 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sycophants  who  think  and  talk  only  of  them.     Thus 
the  rich  man  or  woman  gets  into  the  habit  of  concen 
trating  upon  self.     Now  the  essence  of  charm  is  giving! 
— giving  oneself  out  in  sympathetic  interest  in  one's  fel-J 
lows.     Plow  can  people,  all  whose  faculties  are  trained! 
to  work  in  upon  themselves — how  can  they  have  charm? 
An  egotist,  one  who  talks  only  of  himself,  may  have 
charm  because  he  gives  you  the  impression  that  he  is 
trying  to  please  you,  that  he  thinks  you  so  important 
that  he  wishes  you  to  be   sensible  of  his   importance. 
But  the  egotist  who,  whatever  he  talks,  thinks  only  of 
himself — he  is  not  only  dull  and  bored  but  also  a  dif- 
fuser  of  dullness  and  boredom.     And  that  is  how  their 
servants  and  their  sycophants  make  the  rich  and  the 
fashionable  so  dreary. 

I  imagine  some  such  effect  as  this  was  being  pro 
duced  upon  my  wife  by  her  surroundings  of  luxury.  I 
think  that  may  account  for  her  long  decreasing  charm 
for  me.  At  any  rate,  soon  after  she  was  well  launched 
on  her  Elysian  sea  of  fashion — that  is  to  say,  soon 
after  she  ceased  to  have  any  check  of  social  seeking  to 
restrain  her  from  centering  all  her  thoughts  and  actions 
upon  herself,  she  lost  the  last  bit  of  her  charm  for  me. 
She  became  radiantly  beautiful.  Her  face  took  on  a 
serene  and  refinedly  assured  expression  that  made  her 
extravagantly  admired  on  every  hand.  She  became 
gracious  to  me  and  almost  as  sweet  as  she  had  been 
before  we  moved  to  New  York.  She  even  let  me  see 
that,  if  I  so  desired,  she  would  condescend  to  be  on 
terms  of  wifely  affection  with  me  again.  But  I  did 
not  so  desire.  I  liked  her.  I  admired  her  energy,  her 

175 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

toilets,  and,  quite  impersonally,  her  aristocratic  beauty. 
But  I  was  content  to  be  a  bachelor,  and  I  was  grateful 
when  she  began  to  relieve  me  of  the  tediousness  of  going 
about  in  her  train. 

My  substitute  was  an  architect,  Leon  Macllvane  by 
name — a  handsome  young  fellow  of  about  my  wife's  age, 
though  he  thought  her  much  younger,  despite  Margot's 
age  and  appearance.  With  his  poetic  dark  eyes  and 
classic  features,  and  rich,  deep  voice,  Macllvane  had 
long  been  a  favorite  with  the  young  married  women  of 
the  Armitage  set.  He  was  indeed  a  valuable  asset.  The 
rich  unmarried  men  were  not  especially  interesting; 
also,  they  were  needed  by  the  marriageable  girls.  Mac 
llvane,  not  a  marrying  man  and  never  making  any 
mother  uneasy  by  so  much  as  an  interested  glance  at 
a  daughter  intended  for  a  rich  husband,  devoted  himself 
to  married  women. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  girls,"  he  said  to  me.  "  They 
are  too  colorless." 

"  Why  bother  with  women  at  all?  "  said  I.  "  Aren't 
they  all  colorless?  What  do  they  know  about  life? 
What  experience  have  they  had?  " 

"  An  intelligent  woman's  mind  is  the  complement  of 
an  intelligent  man's  mind,"  said  he,  as  if  this  trite  old 
fallacy  were  a  brilliant  discovery  of  his  own  making. 
"  Women  stimulate  me,  give  me  ideas." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  I  practically.  "  Business.  Yes, 
an  architect  does  deal  chiefly  with  the  women." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  he,  showing  as  much 
anger  as  he  dared  show  the  husband  of  the  woman  to 
whom  he  had  attached  himself. 

176 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Where's  the  harm  in  it  ? "  said  I  encourag 
ingly.  "  You've  got  to  make  a  living — haven't  you? 
It's  good  sense  for  a  business  man  to  cultivate  his 
customers." 

He,  the  poseur  and  the  small  man,  hated  this  plain 
truthful  way  of  dealing  with  his  profession.  Like  all 
chaps  of  that  kidney  he  thought  only  of  himself  and  of 
appearances,  and  sought  to  degrade  a  noble  profession 
to  the  base  uses  of  his  vanity.  In  fact,  he  had  begun 
with  my  wife  because  of  the  orders  he  hoped  to  get — 
for,  he  suspected  that  once  she  looked  about  her  in  the 
fashionable  world  from  the  new  viewpoint  of  a  fashion 
able  person,  she  would  want  changes  in  her  house  to 
make  it  less  vividly  grand.  He  believed  she  would  let 
Hilda  Armitage  educate  her ;  and  Hilda,  unlike  most  of 
her  friends,  liked  the  quiet  kinds  of  ostentation  and  cost 
liness.  And  he  guessed  correctly.  He  was  well  paid 
for  undertaking  to  replace  me  as  escort — so  far  as  I 
could  be  replaced  without  causing  scandal — and,  thank 
heaven,  that  was  very  far  in  the  New  York  of  busy  and 
bored  husbands,  detesting  the  gaudy  gaddings  their 
wives  loved. 

Soon  he  was  serving  my  wife  for  other  reasons  than 
pay.  I  saw  something  of  him  from  time  to  time,  and  I 
presently  began  to  note  a  change  in  his  manner  toward 
me — a  formal  politeness,  an  exaggeration  of  courtesy. 
I  spoke  to  Armitage  about  it.  Armitage  and  I  had  be 
come  the  most  intimate  of  friends — knocked  about  to 
gether  in  the  evenings,  were  more  closely  associated  than 
ever  in  business. 

"  Bob,"  said  I  to  Armitage,  "  what  ails  that  ass, 
177 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Macllvane?  He  treats  me  as  if  he  were  in  love  with 
my  wife." 

Armitage  laughed.  "That's  it,"  said  he.  "My 
wife's  spaniel,  Courtleigh,  who  writes  poetry,  treats  me 
the  same  way.  Get  any  anonymous  letters  yet  ?  " 

"  Two,"  said  I. 

"  Servants,"  said  he.  "  I  suppose  you  burnt  them? 
You  didn't  show  them  to  your  wife  ?  " 

"Heavens,  no,"  replied  I.  "Why  unsettle  her? 
Why  upset  a  pleasant  arrangement?  My  wife  finds 
Macllvane  useful.  I  find  him  invaluable.  He  saves  me 
hours  of  time.  He  spares  me  hours  of  boredom." 

"  My  feeling  about  Courtleigh,"  said  Armitage. 
"  And  both  those  chaps  are  comfortably  trustworthy." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  Macllvane  in  that  way,"  said 
I.  "  I  know  my  wife — and  that's  enough." 

Armitage  reflected  with  an  amused  smile  on  his  face. 
Finally,  he  said :  "  I  don't  suppose  there  ever  were  since 
the  world  began  so  thoroughly  trustworthy  women  as 
these  American  women  of  the  fashionable  crowd — those 
that  have  very  rich  husbands — and  only  those,  of  course, 
are  really  fashionable.  They  may  flirt  a  little,  but 
never  anything  serious — never  anything  that'd  give 
their  husbands  an  excuse  for  throwing  them  out — and 
lose  them  their  big  houses  and  big  incomes  and  social 
leadership." 

I  had  not  thought  of  these  aspects  of  the  matter.  I 
based  my  feeling  of  security  solely  on  my  knowledge  of 
my  wife's  intense  self-absorption.  All  the  springs  of 
sentiment — except  the  shallow  spring  of  highfaluting 
talk — had  dried  up  in  her.  She  would  listen  to  Mac- 

178 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

Ilvane's  flatteries  as  long  as  he  cared  to  pour  them  out. 
But  if  he  ever  tried  to  get  her  to  think  of  him,  she 
would  feel  outraged. 

"  I  suppose,"  pursued  Armitage,  "  we'd  be  tremen 
dously  amused  if  we  could  overhear  those  chaps  talk- 
j  ing  to  our  wives  about  us.  They  don't  dare  pre 
sume  to  the  extent  of  mentioning  our  names.  But 
they  hand  out  generalities  of  roasting — how  stupid 
most  American  men  are,  how  superior  the  women  are, 
what  a  tragic  condescension  for  a  wonderful  Ameri 
can  woman  to  have  to  live  with  a  man  who  couldn't 
appreciate  her." 

I  nodded  and  laughed. 

"  Nothing  a  woman  loves  so  much — an  American 
woman  with  a  little  miseducation  befogging  her  mind 
and  fooling  her  as  to  its  limited  extent — nothing  she 
so  dearly  loves  as  to  hear  that  she  has  a  great  intellect 
and  a  great  soul,  complex,  mysterious,  beyond  the  com 
prehension  of  the  vulgar  male  clods  about  her.  That's 
why  they  like  foreigners.  You  ought  to  watch  those 
foreign  chaps  flatter  our  women — make  perfect  fools 
of  them." 

But  I  had  no  desire  to  watch  women  in  any  circum 
stances.  I  had  no  active  resentment  against  them  as 
had  Armitage.  I  simply  wished  to  be  let  alone,  to  be 
free  to  pursue  my  ambitions  and  my  ideas  of  self-devel 
opment.  I  had  ceased  to  feel  about  Margot.  I  was 
merely  glad  she  was  not  a  boy;  for  I  felt  that  if  she 
were  a  boy,  I  should  have  to  assert  myself  and  do  some 
drastic  and  disagreeable — and  almost  certainly  dis 
astrous — disciplining  in  my  family. 

179 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

About  a  year  and  a  half  after  my  wife  achieved  her 
ambition,  I  began  to  feel  that  she  was  spiritually  bear 
ing  down  upon  me  in  pursuance  of  some  new  secret 
plan. 

During  the  year  and  a  half  she  had  been  playing 
the  fashionable  social  game  with  the  strenuous  enthu 
siasm  which  only  a  woman — I  had  almost  said  only  an 
American  woman — seems  able  to  inject  into  the  pursuit 
of  ob j  ects  that  are  of  no  consequences  whatsoever.  And, 
in  spite  of  the  useful  Macllvane  I  had  been  compelled 
to  assist  her  far  more  than  was  to  my  liking.  I  went 
about  enough  to  get  a  thorough  insight  into  fashion- 
ableness — and  a  profound  distaste  for  it.  Of  the  many 
phases,  ludicrous,  repellent,  despicable,  pitiful,  there 
was  one  that  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me.  It 
amazed  me  to  find  that  the  "  best  "  class  of  people  was, 
if  possible,  more  vulgarly  snobbish  than  the  class  from 
which  I  had  come — even  than  the  "  Brooklyn  bounders." 
I  could  not  comprehend — I  cannot  comprehend — how 
those  who  have  had  the  best  opportunities  are  no  more 
intelligent,  no  broader  of  mind  than  those  who  have  had 
no  opportunities  at  all.  The  ignorance,  the  narrowness 
of  the  men  and  women  of  the  comfortable  classes ! — the 
laziness  of  their  minds ! — the  shallow  cant  about  lit 
erature,  art  and  the  like!  Really,  intelligence,  activity 
of  mind,  seems  confined  to  the  few  who  are  pushing 
upward ;  and  the  masses  of  mankind  in  all  classes  seem 
contented  each  class  with  its  own  peculiar  wallow  of 
ignorance. 

But  to  Edna's  secret  plan.  If  you  are  a  married 
man  you  will  at  once  understand  what  I  mean  when  I 

180 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

speak  of  having  a  vague  sensation  of  being  borne  down 
upon.  She  said  nothing ;  she  did  nothing.  But  I  knew 
she  was  making  ready  to  ask  something  to  which  she 
believed  she  could  get  my  consent  only  by  the  use  of  all 
her  tact  and  skill  and  charm — for  she  did  not  know  her 
charms  had  ceased  to  charm,  but  thought  them  more 
potent  than  ever.  I  waited  with  patience  and  com 
posure  ;  and  in  due  time  she  began  cautious  open  ap 
proaches. 

"  Margot  is  almost  ready  to  come  out,"  said  she. 

"  Money  ?  "   said  I,  smiling. 

She  rebuked  this  coarseness  amiably.  "  Everybody 
isn't  always  thinking  of  money,  dear,"  said  she. 

"  But  why  talk  to  me  about  anything  else?  That's 
my  only  department  in  the  family." 

She  deigned  a  smile  for  my  pleasantry,  then  went 
on  in  her  usual  serious  way :  "  I  wish  to  consult  you 
about  her  education." 

"  Oh — finish  as  you've  begun,"  said  I.  "  I  suppose 
it's  the  best  that  can  be  done  for  a  girl." 

"  But  I  can't  find  what  I  want,"  said  she,  with  an 
expression  of  sweet  maternal  solicitude.  "  I've  always 
been  determined  Margot  should  have  the  best  education 
any  girl  in  the  whole  world  could  get." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  I.     "  See  that  she  gets  it." 

"  She  shall  have  the  perfect  equipment  of  a  lady 
— of  a  woman  of  the  world,"  continued  Edna,  with 
growing  enthusiasm.  "  She  has  the  beauty  to  set 
it  off  —  and  we  can  afford  to  give  it  to  her.  I 
am  willing  to  make  any  sacrifices  that  may  be  nec 
essary." 

181 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  pricked  up  my  ears.  I  always  do  when  anyone, 
male  or  female,  uses  that  word  sacrifice.  I  know  a  piece 
of  selfishness  is  coming. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  pursued  Edna,  with  the  serene 
look  of  the  self-confident  woman  who  is  taking  her 
husband  in  firm,  strong  hands,  "  I  have  been  unable  to 
find  what  I  want  for  her.  Mrs.  Armitage  tells  me  I'll 
not  find  it  except  in  Paris." 

"  Well — why  not  go  to  Paris?  "  said  I. 

Did  you  ever  lift  an  empty  box  that  you  thought 
full  and  heavy?  My  wife  looked  as  if  she  had  just 
done  that  exceedingly  uncomfortable  thing.  "  But  I 
don't  see —  I — I —  It  would  be  a  terrible  sacrifice 
to  have  to  go  and  live  in  Paris,"  stammered  she. 

"  Then  don't  do  it,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  must  think  of  Margot ! "  exclaimed  she 
hastily. 

"  Oh,  Margot  seems  to  be  stepping  along  all  right. 
She'll  never  miss  what  she  doesn't  know  about." 

"  But  you  must  realize,  dear,  what  an  education 
she'd  get  in  Paris.  And  I  suppose  it  would  dp  me 
good,  too.  It's  a  shame  that  I  don't  speak  French. 
Everyone  except  me  speaks  it.  They  all  had  French 
governesses  when  they  were  children." 

"  Some  of  them  had — and  some  hadn't,"  said  I. 
"  Armitage  has  told  me  things  about  your  friends  that 
make  me  suspect  they're  doing  fully  as  much  bluffing 
as  we  are." 

She  winced,  and  sighed  the  sigh  of  the  lady  patient 
with  a  low  husband.  "  Then  you  think  I  ought  to  go  ?  " 
said  she. 

182 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  do  as  you  like,"  said  I. 
"  I  always  have  thought  so.  I  always  shall." 

"  And,"  continued  she  absently,  "  the  society  over 
there  must  be  charming.  Really,  I  need  the  education 
as  much  as  Margot  does.  I  do  surprisingly  well,  con 
sidering  what  my  early  opportunities  were." 

"  I've  never  once  heard  you  give  yourself  away," 
said  I. 

"  I'm  not  that  stupid,"  replied  she.  "  But — a  while 
in  France — on  the  Continent — and  in  England  per 
haps " 

"  How  long  would  you  be  gone  ?  "  interrupted  I,  to 
show  her  that  all  this  beating  round  Robin's  barn  was 
superfluous. 

She  gave  me  a  coquettish  look :  "  How  long  could 
you  spare  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  till  I've  tried,"  said  I,  with  a  gallant 
smile — but  with  no  move  toward  her.  You  women 
who  would  be  wise,  distrust  the  gallantry  that  is  con 
tent  with  speech  and  look. 

"  You  understand,"  pursued  she,  "  if  I  started  this 
thing  I'd  put  it  through — no  matter  how  much  I 
missed  you  or  how  homesick  I  was  over  there." 

"  You  always  do  put  things  through,"  said  I  ad- 
'  miringly.  "When  have  you  planned  to  start?" 

"  I  haven't  planned  at  all,  as  yet,"  replied  she — 
and  I  saw  she  thought  I  had  set  a  trap  for  her,  and 
was  delighted  with  herself  for  having  dodged  it.  Cer 
tainly  never  was  there  a  husband  with  whom  indirection 
•was  more  unnecessary.  Yet  she  would  not  realize  this, 
partly  because  she  had  never  bothered  to  discover  what 

183 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  manner  of  man  I  was,  partly  because  she  had  one  of 
those  natures  that  move  only  by  secrecy  and  indirection. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  go  over  with  you?"  in 
quired  I. 

"  I  only  wish  you  would ! "  exclaimed  she,  but  I 
distrusted  her  enthusiasm. 

"  Couldn't  Macllvane  take  you  over  and  settle 
you?  " 

Her  face  clouded.  Her  lip  curled  slightly.  "  I 
don't  like  him  as  I  did,"  said  she.  "  I've  found  out 
he's  ridiculously  vain  and  egotistical." 

I  laughed  outright. 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  she,  elevating  her  eye 
brows.  She  had  always  disapproved  my  sense  of  humor. 

"  So  he's  been  making  love  to  you — eh?  "   said  I. 

"  No,  indeed ! "  cried  she,  bridling  haughtily. 
"  He'd  not  dare.  But  I  saw  he  was  beginning  to  pre 
sume  in  that  direction,  and  I  checked  him." 

"  Oh,  he's  harmless,"  said  I.  "  Keep  friendly  with 
him.  He'd  be  the  very  person  to  settle  you  in  Paris. 
He  lived  there  several  years." 

"  It  would  cause  scandal,"  said  she.  "  If  you  can't 
go,  I  can  do  well  enough  alone,  I'm  sure." 

"  I'd  only  be  in  the  way,"  said  I.  "  Let  me  know 
when  you  wish  to  go,  and  I'll  try  to  arrange  it.  But 
I  can't  get  away  for  at  least  three  months." 

"That  would  be  too  late,"  said  she.  "  Margot 
must  be  started  at  once.  She  hasn't  any  too  much  time 
before  her  coming  out.  Also,  Mrs.  Armitage  is  sail 
ing  in  two  weeks,  and  she  would  be  a  great  help." 

"  Then  you  have  decided  to  sail  in  two  weeks  ? " 
184 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

said  I,  adding  before  she  had  time  to  get  beyond  a 
gathering  frown  of  protest,  "  That  suits  me.  I'll  make 
my  own  plans  accordingly." 

And  in  two  weeks  they  sailed,  I  watching  the  big 
ship  creep  out  of  dock  and  drop  slowly  down  the  river. 
Armitage  and  I  drove  away  from  the  pier  together. 
We  were  in  such  high  spirits  that  we  had  champagne 
with  our  lunch. 


VI 


ARMITAGE  and  I  were  together  every  day.  He  at 
tracted  me  for  the  usual  reason  of  congeniality,  and 
also  because  he  was  giving  me  a  liberal  education.  I 
have  never  cared  for  books  or,  with  two  or  three  ex 
ceptions,  for  book  men.  About  both  there  is  for  me 
an  atmosphere  of  staleness,  of  tedium.  I  prefer  to 
get  what  is  in  the  few  worth-while  books  through  the 
medium  of  some  clear  and  original  mind — such  a  mind 
as  Armitage  had.  He  ought  to  have  been  a  great  man. 
No,  he  was  a  great  man ;  what  I  mean  to  say  is  that 
his  talents  ought  to  have  won  his  greatness  recognition. 
He  did  not  lack  capacity  or  energy ;  he  showed  a  high 
degree  of  both  in  the  management  and  increase  of  his 
fortune.  He  lacked  that  species  of  vanity,  I  guess  it 
is,  which  spurs  a  man  to  make  himself  conspicuous. 
Also  he  had  a  kind  of  laziness,  and  chose  to  be  active 
only  in  the  way  that  was  easiest  and  most  agreeable 
for  him — the  making  of  money. 

His  father  had  been  rich,  and  his  grandfather ; 
his  great-grandfather  had  been  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  Revolutionary  times.  His  father  was  regarded  as 
a  crank  because  he  had  imagination,  and  therefore  de 
spised  the  conventional  ideas  of  his  own  generation.; 
to  be  regarded  as  thoroughly  sane  and  sensible,  you 

186 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  must  be  careful  to  be  neither,  but  to  pattern  yourself 
j  painstakingly  upon  the  particular  form  of  feeble-mind- 
i  edness  and  conventional  silliness  current  in  your  time. 
Armitage's  father  resolved  that  his  son  should  not  have 
his  individuality  clipped  and  moulded  and  patterned 
by  college  and  caste  into  the  familiar  type  of  upper- 
class  man.  So  Armitage  went  to  public  school,  grad 
uated  from  it  into  a  factory,  then  into  an  office,  him 
self  earned  the  money  to  carry  out  the  ambitions  for 
study  and  travel  with  which  his  father  had  inspired 
him. 

I  think  there  was  nothing  worth  the  knowing  about 
which  Armitage  had  not  accurate  essential  information 
— books,  plays,  pictures,  music,  literature,  history, 
economics,  science,  medicine,  law,  finance.  He  was  a 
good  shot  and  a  good  horseman,  could  run  an  auto 
mobile,  take  it  to  pieces,  put  it  together  again.  He  was 
a  practical  mechanic  and  a  practical  railroad  man.  He 
had  a  successful  model  farm.  "  It  doesn't  take  long 
to  learn  the  essentials  about  anything,"  said  he,  "  if 
you  will  only  put  your  whole  mind  on  it  and  not  let 
up  till  you've  got  what  you  want.  And  the  trouble 
/  vwith  most  people — why,  they  are  narrow  and  ignorant  III 
I  land  incompetent — it  isn't  lack  of  mind,  but  lack  of  in-  I 
J  fterest.  They  have  no  curiosity."  Nor  was  my  friend  J  |  J 
Armitage  a  smatterer.  He  didn't  try  to  do  everything ; 
he  contented  himself  with  knowledge,  and  did  only  one 
thing — made  money  out  of  railroads. 

When  he  saw  that  I  really  wished  to  be  educated,  he 
amused  himself  by  educating  me.  Not  in  a  formal 
way,  of  course;  but  simply  talking  along,  about  what- 

187 


THE 


ever  happened  to  come  up.  I  have  never  known  a  man 
to  get  anywhere,  who  did  not  have  an  excellent  memory. 
Lack  of  memory  —  which  means  lack  of  the  habit  and 
power  of  giving  attention  —  is  the  cause  of  more  fail 
ures  than  all  other  defects  put  together.  If  you  don't 
believe  it,  test  the  failures  you  know  ;  perhaps  you 
might  even  test  your  own  not  too  successful  self.  I 
had  an  unusual  memory  ;  and  I  don't  think  Armitage  or 
anyone  ever  told  me  anything  worth  knowing  that  I 
did  not  stick  to  it  and  keep  it  where  I  could  use  it 
instantly. 

Several  months  after  his  wife  and  mine  departed, 
we  were  walking  in  the  park  one  afternoon  —  the 
usual  tramp  round  the  upper  reservoir  to  reduce  or 
to  keep  in  condition.  He  said  in  the  most  casual 
way: 

"  My  wife  is  coming  next  week,  and  will  get  her 
divorce  at  once." 

Taking  my  cue  from  his  manner  I  showed  even  less 
surprise  then  I  felt.  "  This  is  the  first  I've  heard  of 
it,"  said  I. 

"  Really?  "  said  he  carelessly.  "  Everyone  knows." 
He  laughed  to  himself.  "  She  is  to  marry  Lord  Blan- 
kenship  —  the  Earl  of  Blankenship." 

"And  the  children?"  said  I. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  don't  know.  Her 
people  will  look  after  them.  She  has  spoiled  them  be 
yond  repair.  I  have  no  interest  in  them  —  nor  they  in 
me."  After  a  little  tramping  in  silence,  he  halted  and 
rested  his  hands  on  the  railing  and  looked  away  across 
the  lakelike  reservoir,  its  surface  tossed  up  into  white 

188 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

caps  by  the  wind.     u  I  loved  her  when  we  were  mar 
ried,"  said  he.     "  That  caused  all  the  mischief.     I  let ) 
her  do  as  she  pleased.     She  was  a  fine  girl — good  f  am-  ] 
ily  but  poor.     She  pretended  to  be  in  sympathy  with  • 
my  ideas."     His  lip  curled  in  good-humored  contempt.  ' 
"  I  believed  in  her  enthusiasm.     My  father — wonder 
fully  sane  old  man — warned  me  she  was  only  after  our 
money,  but  I  wouldn't  listen.     Tried  to  quarrel  with 
him.     He  wouldn't  have  it — gave  me  my  way.     It's 
not  strange  I  believed  in  her.      She  looked  all  that's 
high-minded — and  delicate — and  what  they  call  aristo 
cratic.     Well,  it  is  aristocratic — the  reality  of  aristoc 
racy." 

"  Perhaps  she  was  sincere,"  said  I,  out  of  the  depths 
of  my  own  experience,  "  perhaps  she  honestly  imagined 
she  liked  and  wanted  the  sort  of  life  you  pictured.  We 
are  all  hypocrites,  but  most  of  us  are  unconscious  hypo 
crites." 

"  No  doubt  she  did  deceive  herself — in  part  at  least," 
he  admitted.  "  For  a  year  or  so  after  our  marriage  she 
kept  up  the  bluff.  I  didn't  catch  on — didn't  find  her 
out — until  we  began  to  differ  about  bringing  up  the 
children.  Even  then,  I  loved  her  so  that  I  let  her  have 
her  way  until  it  was  too  late." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  don't  you  owe  it  to  them  to " 

He  interrupted  with  an  impatient,  "  Didn't  I  try  ? 
But  it  was  hopeless.  To  succeed  in  this  day,  I'd  have 
had  to  take  the  children  away  off  into  the  woods,  with 
the  chances  that  even  there  the  servants  I'd  be  compelled 
to  have  would  spoil  them — would  keep  them  reminded  of 
the  rotten  snobbishness  they've  been  taught."  He 
13  189 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

laughed  at  me  with  mocking  irony.  "  You  have  a 
daughter,"  said  he.  "What  about  her?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  your  boy,"  said  I. 

He  frowned  and  looked  away.  After  a  long  pause — 
"  Hopeless — hopeless,"  said  he.  "  Believe  me — hopeless. 
The  boy  is  like  her.  No,  I'll  have  to  begin  all  over 
again." 

I  gave  an  inquiring  look. 

"  Marry  again,"  explained  he.  "  Another  sort  of 
^oman,  and  keep  her  and  her  children  away  from  this 
world  of  ours.  I'd  like  to  try  the  experiment.  But — " 
He  laughed  apologetically.  "  I'm  afraid  I  love  the  city 
and  its  amusements  too  well.  I'm  not  as  determined  nor 
as  ardent  as  I  once  was.  What  does  it  matter,  anyway? 
So  long  as  we  are  comfortable  and  well  amused,  why 
should  we  bother?  "  After  a  silence,  "  Another  mistake 
I  made — the  initial  mistake — was  in  giving  her  a  for 
tune.  She  is  almost  as  well  fixed  as  I  am.  Don't  make 
that  mistake,  Godfrey." 

"  I've  already  done  it,"  said  I.  "  And  I  shall  never 
be  sorry  that  I  did.  I  gave  my  wife  the  first  large  sum 
I  made,  and  I've  added  to  it  from  time  to  time.  I  wanted 
her  and  Margot  to  be  safe,  no  matter  what  happened 
to  me." 

"  A  mistake,"  he  said.  "  A  sad  mistake.  I  know 
how  you  felt.  I  felt  the  same  way.  But  there's  some 
thing  worse  than  the  more  or  less  sentimental  aversion 
to  being  loved  and  considered  merely  for  the  money  they 
can  get  out  of  you  and  can't  get  without  you." 

"  Nothing  worse,"  I  declared. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  It's  worse  to  give  a  foolish 
190 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

(woman  the  power  to  make  a  fool  of  herself,  of  her  chil-; 
dren,  and  of  you." 

"  That  is  bad,  I'll  admit,"  said  I.  "  But  the  other 
is  worse — at  least  to  me." 

"  You'd  refuse  to  make  a  child  behave  itself,  through: 
the  selfish  fear  that  it  would  hate  you  for  doing  so." 

I  laughed.    "  You  know  my  weakness,  I  see,"  said  I. 

"  There's  the  foolish  American  husband  and  father,  j 
No  wonder  all  the  classes  that  ought  to  be  leaders  in 
development  and  civilization  are  leaders  only  in  luxury 
and  folly." 

"  Oh,  let  them  have  a  good  time — what  they  call  a 
good  time,"  said  I.  "  As  you  said  a  moment  ago,  it 
doesn't  matter." 

"  If  it  only  were  a  good  time — to  be  ignorant  and 
snobbish  and  lazy,  to  drive  instead  of  walking,  to  eat 
and  drink  instead  of  thinking,  to  be  waited  upon  in 
stead  of  getting  the  education  and  the  happiness  that 
come  from  serving  others.  Don't  laugh  at  me.  After 
all,  while  you  and  I — all  our  sort  of  men — are  greedy, 
selfish  grabbers,  making  thousands  work  for  us,  still  we 
do  build  up  big  enterprises,  we  do  set  things  to  moving, 
and  we  do  teach  men  the  discipline  of  regular  work  by 
forcing  them  to  work  for  us  at  more  or  less  useful 
things." 

No  doubt  you,  gentle  reader,  have  fallen  asleep  over 
this  conversation.  I  understand  perfectly  that  it  is  be 
yond  you;  for  you  have  no  conception  of  the  deep  un 
derlying  principles  of  the  relations  of  men  and  men  or 
men  and  women.  But  there  may  be  among  my  readers 
a  few  who  will  see  interest  and  importance  in  this  talk 

191 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  Armitage.  It  is  time  the  writers  of  stories  con 
cerned  themselves  with  the  realities  of  life  instead  of  with 
the  showy  and  sensational  things  that  obscure  or  hide 
the  realities.  What  would  you  think  of  the  physiolo 
gist  who  issued  a  treatise  on  physiology  with  no  mention 
or  account  of  the  blood?  Yet  you  read  stories  about 
what  purports  to  be  life  with  no  mention  or  account  of 
money — this,  when  in  any  society  money  is  the  all-im 
portant  factor.  Put  aside,  if  you  can,  the  prejudices 
of  your  miseducation  and  aesthetics,  of  your  false  cul 
ture  and  your  false  refinement,  open  your  mind,  think, 
and  you  will  see  that  I  am  right. 

When  we  were  well  down  toward  the  end  of  the  Park, 
Armitage  said :  "  Pardon  me  a  direct  question.  Have 
you  and  your  wife  separated?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  She  has  gone  abroad  to  round  out 
Margot's  education — and  her  own." 

"  You  know  what  that  means  ?  " 

"  In  a  general  way,"  replied  I.  "  I'm  letting  them 
amuse  themselves.  They  don't  need  me,  nor  I  them. 
Perhaps  when  they  come  back — "  I  did  not  finish  my 
sentence. 

He  laughed.  "  That  means  you  don't  really  care 
what  happens  when  they  come  back." 

My  smile  was  an  admission  of  the  correctness  of  his 
guess.  We  dropped  our  domestic  affairs  and  took  up 
the  matters  that  were  more  interesting  and  more  im 
portant  to  us. 

If  you  have  good  sight,  unimpaired  eyes,  you  go 
about  assuming — when  you  think  of  it  at  all — that  good 
sight  is  the  rule  in  the  world  and  impaired  eyes  the  ex- 

192 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ception.     But  let  your  sight  begin  to  fail,  let  your  eyes 
become  darkened,  and  soon  you  discover  that  you  are  one 
of  thousands — that  good  sight  is  the  exception,  that 
almost  everyone  has  something  the  matter  with  his  eyes. 
|  The  reason  human  beings  know  so  little  about  human 
nature,  the  reason  the  sentimental  flapdoodle  about  hu 
man  virtues,  in  the  present  not  very  far-advanced  stage 
of  human  evolution,  is  so  widely  believed  and  doubt  of  it 
so  indignantly  denounced  as  cynicism,  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  average  human  being  is  ignorant  of  the  afflic 
tions  of  his  own  soul.    This  would  be  pleasant  and  harm 
less  enough,  and  to  destroy  the  delusion  would  be  wick 
edly  cruel,  were  it  not  that  the  only  way  to  cure  ail- <  j , 
ments  of  whatever  sort  is  to  diagnose  them.    What  hope  1  ] 
is  there  for  the  man  devoured  of  a  fever  who  fancies  and 
insists  that  he  is  healthy?     What  hope  is  there  for  the 
man  who  eats  pleasant-tasting  slow  poison  under  the 
I  impression  that  it  is  food?     What  a  quaint  notion  it  is 
[  that  the  truth,  the  sole  source  of  health  and  happiness, 
«  is  bad  for  some  people,  chiefly  for  those  sick  unto  death 
I  through  the  falsehoods  of  ignorance  and  vanity !     We 
:  humans  are  like  the  animal  that  claws  and  bites  the  sur- 
3geon  who  is  trying  to  set  its  broken  leg. 

But  I  am  wandering  a  little.    Discover  that  you  have 
any  ailment  of  body  or  of  soul,  and  you  soon  discover 
jhow  widespread  that  ailment  is.    You  do  not  even  appre- 
|ciate  how  widespread,  incessant,  and  poignant  are  the 
\  ravages  of  death  until  your  own  family  and  friends  be 
gin  to  die  off.     I  had  no  notion  of  the  extent  of  the  so- 
jcial  or   domestic  malady   of   abandoned  husbands  and 
fathers  until  I  became  one  of  that  curious  class. 

193 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Among  the  masses  there  is  the  great  and  growing 
pestilence  of  abandoned  wives — husbands,  worn  out  by 
the  uncertainties  of  the  laboring  man's  income,  and  dis 
gusted  with  the  incompetence  of  their  wives  and  with 
the  exasperations  of  the  badly  brought  up  children — 
such  husbands  flying  by  tens  of  thousands  to  escape  what 
they  cannot  cure  or  endure.  Among  the  classes,  from 
the  plutocracy  down  to  and  through  the  small  merchants 
and  professional  men,  I  now  discovered  that  there  was 
a  corresponding  and  reversed  disease — the  abandoned 
husband. 

The  husband  and  father,  working  hard  and  presently 
accumulating  enough  for  ease  in  his  particular  station 
of  life,  suddenly  finds  himself  supporting,  with  perhaps 
all  the  money  he  can  scrape  together,  a  distant  and 
completely  detached  family.  He  mails  his  money  regu 
larly,  and  with  a  fidelity  that  will  appear  grotesque, 
noble,  or  pitiful  according  to  the  point  of  view.  In  re 
turn  he  gets  occasional  letters  from  the  loved  ones — per 
functory  these  letters  somehow  sound,  or  would  sound 
to  the  critical,  though  they  are  liberally  sprinkled  with 
loving,  even  fawning  phrases,  such  as  "  dear,  sweet 
papa  "  and  "  darling  husband."  Where  are  "  the  loved 
ones  ?  "  If  the  family  home  is  in  a  small  town  or  coun 
try,  they  are  in  New  York  or  some  other  city  of  America 
usually.  If  the  family  home  is  in  the  city,  they  are 
abroad.  What  are  they  doing?  Sacrificing  themselves ! 
Especially  poor  wife  and  mother.  She  would  infinitely 
prefer  being  at  home  with  beloved  husband.  But  she 
must  not  be  selfish.  She  must  carry  her  part  of  their 
common  burden.  While  lie  toils  to  provide  for  the  chil- 

194 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

dren,  she  toils  in  the  loneliness  or  unhappiness  of  New 
York  or  Paris  or  Rome  or  Dresden  or  Genoa.  And  what 
is  she  toiling  at  in  those  desert  places  ?  Why,  at  educat 
ing  the  children ! 

Sometimes  it's  music.  Sometimes  it's  painting. 
Again  it's  "  finishing,"  whatever  that  may  mean,  or 
plain,  vague  "  education."  There  was  a  time  when  men 
of  any  sort  could  be  instantly  abashed,  silenced  and 
abased  by  the  mere  pronouncing  of  the  word  education. 
That  happy  day  for  mental  fakers  is  nearing  its  close. 
Now,  at  the  sound  of  the  sacred  word  many  a  sensible, 
practical  man  has  the  courage  to  put  on  a  grin.  I  have 
been  credited  with  saying  that  a  revival  of  the  declining 
child-bearing  among  American  women  might  be  looked 
for,  now  that  they  have  found  the  usefulness  of  children 
as  an  excuse  for  escape  from  home  and  husband.  I  admit 
having  said  this,  but  I  meant  it  as  a  jest.  However, 
there  is  truth  in  the  jest.  I  don't  especially  blame  the 
women.  Why  should  they  stay  at  home  when  they  have 
no  sympathy  with  the  things  that  necessarily  engross 
the  husband?  Why  stay  at  home  when  it  bores  them 
even  to  see  that  the  servants  carry  on  the  house  de 
cently?  Why  stay  at  home  when  they  simply  show 
there  from  day  to  day  how  little  they  know  about 
housekeeping?  Why  stay  at  home  when  there  is  an 
amiable  fool  willing  to  mail  them  his  money,  while  they 
amuse  themselves  gadding  about  Europe  or  some  big 
city  of  America? 

Abandoned  wives  at  the  one  end  of  the  social  scale, 
abandoned  husbands  at  the  other  end.  Please  note  that 
in  both  cases  the  deep  underlying  cause  is  the  same — • 

195 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

money.  Too  little  money,  and  the  husband  flies;  too 
much  money,  and  it  is  the  wife  who  breaks  up  the  family. 

As  soon  as  I  discovered,  by  being  elected  to  mem 
bership,  the  existence  of  the  universal  order  of  abandoned 
husbands  I  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  it.  I  was  eager 
to  learn  whether  there  was  another  fool  quite  so  fool 
ish  as  myself,  also  whether  the  other  fools  were  aware  of 
their  own  folly.  I  found  that  most  of  them  were  rather 
proud  of  their  membership,  indulged  in  a  ludicrous  cock 
ing  of  the  comb  and  waggling  of  the  wattles  when  they 
spoke  of  "  my  family  over  on  the  other  side  for  a  few 
years,"  or  of  "  my  wife,  poor  woman,  exiled  in  Paris  to 
cultivate  my  daughter's  voice,"  or  of  "  my  invalid  wife 
— she  has  to  live  in  the  south  of  France.  It's  a  sad  trial 
to  us  both." 

Then — but  this  came  much  later — I  discovered  that 
these  credulous,  money-mailing  fools,  including  myself, 
were  not  quite  so  imbecile,  as  a  class,  as  they  seemed  to 
be.  I  discovered  that  they  were  secretly,  often  uncon 
sciously,  glad  to  be  rid  of  their  uncongenial  families, 
and  regarded  any  money  they  mailed  as  money  well 
spent.  They  toiled  cheerfully  at  distasteful  tasks  to 
get  the  wherewithal  to  keep  their  loved  ones  far,  far 
away ! 

The  absence  of  Edna  and  Margot  was  an  enormous 
relief  to  me.  Edna  was  constantly  annoying  me  to  ac 
companying  her  to  places  to  which  I  did  not  care  to  go. 
I  like  the  theatre  and  I  rather  like  some  operas,  but  when 
I  go  to  either  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  performance. 
Going  with  Edna  and  her  friends  meant  a  tedious  social 
function.  We  arrived  late;  we  did  not  hear  the  play  or 

196 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  opera.  As  for  the  purely  social  functions,  they  were 
intolerable.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  been  so  unhappy 
had  I  been  the  kind  of  man  who  likes  to  talk  for  the  sake 
of  hearing  his  own  voice.  Women  are  attentive  listeners 
when  the  man  who  is  talking  is  worth  flattering.  But 
I  talk  only  for  purpose,  and  when  I  listen  I  wish  it  to 
be  to  some  purpose  also.  So,  Edna,  always  urging  me 
to  do  something  distasteful  or  giving  me  the  sense  that 
she  was  about  to  ask  me,  or  was  irritated  against  me  for 
being  "  disobliging  " — Edna  made  me  uncomfortable,  in 
creasingly  uncomfortable  as  I  grew  more  intelligent, 
more  critical,  more  discriminating.  As  for  Margot,  I 
could  not  talk  with  her  ten  minutes  without  seeing  pro 
trude  from  her  sweet  loveliness  some  vulgarity  of  snob 
bishness.  It  irritated  me  to  hear  her  speak  to  a  servant. 
I  had  to  rebuke  her  privately  several  times  for  the  tone 
she  used  in  addressing  her  governess  or  my  secretary — 
this  when  her  mother  and  all  her  mother's  friends  used 
precisely  the  same  repellant  "  gracious  "  tone  in  the  same 
circumstances.  I  saw  that  she,  sometimes  instinctively, 
again  deliberately  tried  to  hide  her  real  self  from  me, 
that  I  was  making  a  hypocrite  of  her.  Any  sort  of 
frankness  or  sympathy  between  her  and  me  was  im 
possible. 

A  few  weeks  after  their  departure  I  closed  the  house. 
It  came  to  me  that  I  need  endure  its  discomforts  no 
longer,  that  I  could  get  rid  of  those  smelly,  dull-witted, 
low-minded  foreign  animals,  that  I  need  not  endure  food 
sent  up  from  a  kitchen  as  to  which  I  had  from  time  to 
time  disgusting  proofs  that  it  was  not  clean.  I  closed 
the  house  and  left  the  mice  and  roaches  and  other  insects 

197 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  such  short  provender  as  would  be  provided  by  care 
taker  and  family.  I  took  an  apartment  in  a  first-class 
hotel. 

When  Armitage  got  clear  of  his  wife  he  took  the 
adjoining  apartment.  And  how  comfortable  and  how 
cheerful  we  were! 

The  women  with  their  incompetence  and  indifference 
have  about  destroyed  the  American  home.  To  get  good 
service,  to  have  capable  people  assisting  you,  you  must 
yourself  be  capable.  The  incapacity  of  the  "  ladies  " 
has  driven  good  servants  out  of  the  business  of  domestic 
service,  has  left  in  it  only  the  worthless  and  unreliable 
creatures  who  now  take  care  of  the  homes.  If  you  find 
any  part  of  the  laboring  class  deteriorating,  don't  blame 
them.  To  do  that  is  to  get  nowhere,  is  to  be  unjust 
and  shallow  to  boot.  Instead,  look  at  the  employers  of 
that  labor.  Every  time,  you  will  find  the  fault  is  there, 
just  as  an  ill-mannered  or  a  bad  child  means  unfaithful 
parents.  The  masses  of  mankind  must  have  leadership, 
guidance,  example.  My  experience  has  been  that  they 
respond  when  the  dominating  classes  do  their  duty — 
that  is,  pay  proper  wages,  demand  good  service,  and 
know  what  good  service  is. 

What  a  relief  and  a  joy  that  hotel  was !  Armitage 
and  I  had  our  own  cook,  and  so  could  have  the  simple 
dishes  we  liked.  We  attended  to  the  marketing — and 
both  knew  what  sort  of  meat  and  vegetables  and  fruit  to 
buy,  and  were  not  long  trifled  with  by  our  butcher,  our 
grocer,  and  our  dairyman,  spoiled  though  they  were  by 
the  ladies.  And  our  apartments  were  clean — really 
clean,  and  after  the  first  few  weeks  our  servants  were 

198 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

contented,  and  abandoned  the  evil  ways  slip-shod 
mistresses  had  got  them  into.  Pushing  my  inquiries,  I 
found  that  not  only  our  hotel,  but  every  first-class  hotel 
in  the  fashionable  district  was  filled  with  the  remnants 
of  shattered  homes — husbands  who  had  compelled  their 
wives  to  give  up  the  expensive  and  dirty  attempts  at 
housekeeping ;  husbands  who  had  abandoned  their  fami 
lies  in  country  homes  or  in  other  cities  and  towns  and 
had,  surreptitiously  or  boldly,  returned  to  bachelor 
bliss ;  husbands  who  had  been  abandoned  by  their  fami 
lies,  none  of  these  last  cases  being  more  heart-breaking 
than  Armitage's  or  my  own.  The  story  ran  that  he 
was  on  the  verge  of  melancholia  because  his  beautiful 
wife  had  cast  him  off.  There  was  no  more  truth  in  this 
than  there  would  have  been  in  a  tale  of  my  lonely  grief. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Armitage,  pointing  out  to  me  the 
truth,  I  might  have  fancied  myself  a  deserted  unfor 
tunate.  It  would  not  have  been  an  isolated  instance  of 
a  human  being  not  knowing  when  he  is  well  off. 

I  did  not  see  my  family  again  until  the  following 
spring.  Business  compelled  me  to  go  abroad,  and  they 
had  come  over  to  London  for  the  season. 

When  I  descended  from  the  train  at  Euston,  a  little 
confused  by  the  strangeness,  I  saw  my  wife  a  few  yards 
down  the  platform.  Beside  her  stood  a  tall,  beautiful 
young  woman,  whom  I  did  not  instantly  recognize  as  my 
daughter.  Both  were  dressed  with  the  perfection  of 
taste  and  of  detail  that  has  made  the  American  woman 
famous  throughout  the  world.  I  like  well-dressed 
women — and  well-dressed  men,  too.  I  should  certainly 

199 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

have  been  convicted  of  poor  taste  had  I  not  been  dazzled 
by  those  two  charming  examples  of  fashion  and  style. 
They  looked  like  two  lovely  sisters,  the  elder  not  more 
than  five  or  six  years  in  advance  of  the  younger.  I  was 
a  youthful-looking  man,  myself — except,  perhaps,  when 
I  was  in  the  midst  of  affairs  and  took  on  the  air  of  re 
sponsibility  that  cannot  appear  in  the  face  of  youth. 
But  no  one  would  have  believed  there  were  so  few  years 
between  Edna  and  me.  Nor  was  she  in  the  least  made- 
up.  The  youth  was  genuinely  there. 

That  meeting  must  have  impressed  the  by-standers, 
who  were  observing  the  two  women  with  admiring  inter 
est.  I  felt  a  glow  of  enthusiasm  at  sight  of  these 
elegant  beauties.  I  was  proud  to  be  able  to  claim  them. 
As  for  them,  they  became  radiant  the  instant  they  saw 
me. 

"  Godfrey !  "  cried  Edna  loudly,  rushing  toward  me. 

"  Papa — dear  old  papa !  "  cried  Margot,  waving  her 
arms  in  a  pretty  gesture  of  impatient  adoration  while 
her  mother  was  detaining  me  from  her  embrace. 

"Well— well!"  cried  I.  "What  a  pair  of  girls! 
My,  but  you're  tearing  it  off ! " 

They  laughed  gayly,  and  hugged  and  kissed  me  all 
over  again.  For  a  moment  I  felt  that  I  had  been  missed 
— and  that  I  had  missed  them.  A  good-looking,  short 
ish  and  shy  young  man,  dressed  and  groomed  in  the 
attractive  English  upper-class  way  of  exquisiteness  with 
no  sacrifice  of  manliness,  was  now  brought  forward. 
"  Lord  Crossley — my  husband,"  said  Edna. 

"  Pleased,  I'm  sure,"  murmured  the  young  man,  giv 
ing  me  his  hand  with  an  awkwardness  that  was  somehow 

200 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

not  awkward — or,  rather,  that  conveyed  a  subtle  im 
pression  of  good  breeding.  "  Now  that  you've  got  him 
— or  that  he's  got  you,"  proceeded  he,  "  I'll  toddle 
along." 

My  wife  gave  him  her  hand  carelessly.  "  Until  din 
ner,"  she  said. 

Margot  shook  hands  with  him,  and  nodded  and 
smiled.  When  he  was  gone  I  observed  the  carriage  near 
which  we  were  standing — and  I  knew  at  once  that  it  was 
my  wife's  carriage.  It  was  a  grand  car  of  state,  yet 
quiet  and  simple.  I  often  looked  at  it  afterwards,  trying 
to  puzzle  out  how  it  contrived  to  convey  two  exactly 
opposite  impressions.  I  could  never  solve  the  mystery. 
On  the  lofty  box  sat  the  most  perfect  model  of  a  coach 
man  I  had  seen  up  to  that  time.  Beside  the  open  door 
in  the  shallow,  loftily  hung  body  of  the  carriage  stood 
an  equally  perfect  footman.  I  was  soon  to  get  used  to 
that  marvelous  English  ability  at  specializing  men — a 
system  by  which  a  man  intended  for  a  certain  career  is 
arrested  in  every  other  kind  of  growth,  except  only  that 
which  tends  to  make  him  more  perfect  for  his  purpose. 
Observing  an  English  coachman,  or  valet  or  butler  or 
what  not,  you  say,  "  Here  is  a  remarkably  clever  man." 
Yet  you  soon  find  out  that  he  is  practically  imbecile  in 
every  other  respect  but  his  specialty. 

We  entered  the  carriage,  I  sitting  opposite  the  ladies 
— and  most  uncomfortable  I  was ;  for  the  carriage  was 
designed  to  show  off  its  occupants,  and  to  look  well  in 
it  they  had  to  know  precisely  how  to  sit,  which  I  did  not. 
No  one  noticed  me,  however.  There  was  too  much 
pleasure  to  be  got  out  of  observing  Edna  and  Margot, 

201 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

who  were  looking  like  duchesses  out  of  a  storybook.  I 
knew  they  were  delightfully  conscious  of  the  sensation 
they  were  making,  yet  they  talked  and  laughed  as  if 
they  were  alone  in  their  own  sitting  room — a  trick  which 
is  part  of  that  "  education  "  of  which  you  have  heard 
something,  and  will  hear  still  more.  The  conversation 
seemed  easy.  In  fact,  it  was  only  animated.  It  was 
a  fair  specimen  of  that  whole  mode  of  life.  You  have 
seen  the  wonderful  peaches  that  come  to  New  York 
from  South  Africa  early  in  the  winter — have  delighted 
in  their  exquisite  perfection  of  color  and  form.  But 
have  you  ever  tasted  them?  I  would  as  lief  eat  saw 
dust;  I  would  rather  eat  it — for,  of  sawdust  I  should 
expect  nothing. 

"  That  young  man  is  the  Marquis  of  Crossley,"  said 
my  wife. 

I  liked  to  hear  her  pronounce  a  title  in  private.  It 
gave  you  the  sense  of  something  that  tasted  fine — made 
you  envy  her  the  sensation  she  was  getting.  "  Who  is 
he?"  said  I. 

Margot  laughed  naively — an  entrancing  display  of 
white  teeth  and  rose-lined  mouth.  "  Marquis  of  Cross- 
ley,  papa,"  she  said.  "  That's  all — and  quite  enough 
it  is." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  big  men  in  England," 
said  I.  "  He  looked  rather  young  to  amount  to  very 
much." 

"  He's  as  old  as  you  are,"  said  Edna,  a  flash  of  ill- 
humor  appearing  and  vanishing. 

I  was  astonished.     "  I  thought  him  a  boy,"  said  I. 

"  He's    one  of  the  greatest  nobles  in  England — one 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  the  greatest  in  Europe,"  said  Edna — and  I  saw  Mar- 
got's  eyes  sparkling. 

"  He  seemed  a  nice  fellow,"  said  I  amiably.  "  How 
you  have  grown,  Margot !  " 

"  Hasn't  she,  though !  "  cried  my  wife.  "  Aren't 
you  proud  of  her?  " 

"  I'm  proud  of  you  both,"  said  I.  "  You  make  me 
feel  old  and  dingy." 

"  You've  been  working  too  hard,  poor  dear,"  said 
Edna  tenderly.  "  If  you  only  would  stay  over  here  and 
learn  the  art  of  leisure." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'd  be  dismally  bored,"  said  I. 

I  had  heard  much  about  the  art  of  loafing  as  prac 
ticed  by  Europeans,  and  I  had  not  been  attracted  by 
what  I  had  heard.  It  was  inconceivable  to  me  that  in 
telligent  grown  men  could  pass  their  time  at  things 
about  equal  to  marbles  and  tops.  But  I  suppose  I  am 
abnormal,  as  they  allege.  Many  men  seem  to  look  on 
mental  effort  of  any  kind  as  toilsome,  and  seize  the  first 
opportunity  to  return  to  the  mindless  frolickings  of  the 
beasts  of  the  field.  To  me  mental  effort  is  a  keen  pleas 
ure.  And  I  must  add  I  can't  help  thinking  it  is  to 
everybody  who  has  real  brains. 

The  conversation  would  have  died  in  distressing 
agony  had  it  not  been  for  the  indomitable  pluck  of  my 
wife.  She  struggled  desperately — perhaps  may  even 
have  deceived  herself  into  thinking  that  she  was  glad  to 
see  me  and  that  the  carriage  was  the  scene  of  a  happy 
reunion.  But  I,  who  had  a  thorough  training  in  quickly 
sizing  up  situations,  saw  the  truth — that  I  was  a  rank 
outsider,  to  both  wife  and  daughter;  that  they  were 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

strangers  to  me.  I  began  to  debate  what  was  the  short 
est  time  I  could  decently  stop  in  London. 

"  We  are  to  be  presented  at  Court  next  week,"  said 
Edna. 

Margot's  eyes  were  again  sparkling.  It  was  the 
sort  of  look  the  novelists  put  on  the  sweet  young  girl's 
face  when  she  sees  her  lover  coming. 

"  Yes — next  week — next  Thursday,"  said  Edna. 
"  And  so  another  of  the  little  duchess's  dreams  is  com 
ing  true." 

"  Is  it  exciting  ?  "  said  I  to  Margot.  Somehow  ref 
erence  to  the  "  little  duchess  "  irritated  me. 

"  Rather !  "  exclaimed  Margot,  fairly  glowing  with 
ecstasy.  "  You  put  on  the  most  wonderful  dress,  and 
you  drive  in  a  long,  long  line  of  wonderful  carriages, 
with  all  the  women  in  wonderful  dresses.  And  you  go 
into  the  palace  through  lines  and  lines  of  gorgeous 
liveries  and  uniforms — and  you  wait  in  a  huge  grand 
room  for  an  hour  or  so,  frightened  to  death — and  then 
you  walk  into  the  next  room  and  make  the  courtesy  you 
have  been  practicing  for  weeks — and  you  pass  on." 

"  Good !  "  cried  I.     "  What  then  ?  " 

"Why  you  go  home,  half  dead  from  the  nervous 
shock.  Oh,  it's  wonderful !  " 

It  seemed  to  me — for  I  was  becoming  somewhat 
critical,  as  is  the  habit  in  moods  of  irritation — it 
seemed  to  me  that  Margot's  elaborate  and  costly  edu 
cation  might  have  included  the  acquiring  of  a  more 
extensive  vocabulary.  That  word  wonderful  was  be 
ginning  to  get  on  my  nerves.  Still,  this  was  hyper- 
criticism.  A  lovely  woman  does  not  need  a  vocabulary, 

204 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

or  anything  else  but  a  lovely  dress  and  plenty  of  money 
to  provide  background.  "  Yes — it  must  be — wonder 
ful,"  said  I. 

"  We've  been  working  at  it  for  weeks,  mamma  and 
I,"  continued  she.  "  I'm  sure  we  shall  do  well.  I  can 
hardly  wait.  Just  fancy!  I'm  to  meet  the  king  and 
the  queen!  " 

I  saw  that  Edna  was  in  the  same  ecstatic  trance.  I 
leaned  back  and  tried  to  distract  myself  with  the  nov 
elty  of  London  houses  and  crowds.  It  may  be  you  un 
derstand  the  mingling  of  pity,  contempt,  anger,  and 
amusement  that  filled  my  breast.  If  you  do  not  under 
stand,  explanation  would  merely  weary  you.  I  was  no 
longer  proud  of  my  beautiful  family ;  I  wished  to  get 
away  from  them,  to  forget  them.  Edna  and  Margot 
chatted  on  and  on  about  the  king  and  queen,  about  the 
various  titled  people  they  knew  or  hoped  to  know,  about 
the  thrills  of  aristocratic  society.  I  tried  not  to  listen. 
After  a  while  I  said,  with  I  hope  not  unsucessful  attempt 
at  amiability: 

"  I'm  sorry  I  shan't  be  here  to  witness  your  tri 
umph." 

Across  Edna's  face  swept  a  flash  of  vivid — I  had 
almost  said  vicious — annoyance.  "  You're  not  going 
before  the  drawing-room  at  Buckingham  Palace !  "  cried 
she. 

"  I'll  have  to,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  can't !  "  protested  Margot,  tears  of  vexa 
tion  in  her  eyes.  "  Everyone  will  think  it's  dreadfully 
queer." 

"  Don't  fret  about  that,  my  dear,"  replied  I  lightly. 
14  205 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  know  how  it  is  over  here.  So  long  as  you've  got 
the  cash  they'll  never  ask  a  question.  We  Americans 
mean  money  to  them — and  that's  all." 

"  Oh,  papa !  "  cried  Margot. 

"  Don't  put  such  ideas  into  the  child's  head,  God 
frey,"  said  my  wife,  restraining  herself  in  a  most  lady 
like  manner. 

"  She  knows,"  said  I.  "  So  do  you.  Money  is  every 
thing  with  aristocracies  everywhere.  They  must  live 
luxuriously  without  work.  That  can't  be  done  without 
money — lots  of  money.  So  aristocrats  seriously  think 
of  nothing  else,  whatever  they  may  talk." 

"  You'll  have  a  better  opinion  of  them  when  you 
know  them,"  said  Edna,  once  more  serene  and  sweetly 
friendly. 

"  I  don't  think  badly  of  them,"  I  replied.  "  I  ad 
mire  their  cleverness.  But  you  mustn't  ask  me  to  re 
spect  them.  They  hardly  expect  it.  They  don't  respect 
themselves.  If  they  did,  they'd  not  be  stealing,  but 
working." 

Margot  listened  with  lowered  eyes.  I  saw  that  she 
was  ashamed  of  and  for  me.  Edna  concealed  her  feel 
ings  better.  She  forced  an  amiable  smile.  "  I  don't 
know  much  about  these  things,"  she  said  politely. 
"  But,  Godfrey,  you  mustn't  desert  us,  at  least  not  un 
til  after  the  drawing-room.  I've  told  our  ambassador 
you're  to  be  here,  and  he  has  gone  to  no  end  of  trouble 
to  arrange  for  you." 

"Howard?"  said  I.  "That  pup!  I  despise  him. 
He's  a  rotten  old  snob.  They  tell  me  his  toadyism  turns 
the  stomach  of  even  the  English.  He's  a  disgrace  to 

206 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

our  country.  But  I  suppose  he's  little  if  any  worse 
than  most  of  our  ambassadors  over  here.  They've  all 
bought  their  jobs  to  gratify  their  own  and  their  wives' 
taste  for  shoe  polish." 

This  speech  so  depressed  the  ladies  that  their  last 
remnant  of  vivacity  fled,  not  to  return.  You  are  sym 
pathizing  with  them,  gentle  reader,  and  they  are  wel 
come  to  your  sympathy.  We  drove  in  silence  the  rest 
of  the  way  to  the  hotel  in  Piccadilly,  where  they  were 
installed  in  pompous  luxury  and  had  made  equally  lux 
urious  provision  for  me.  When  I  was  alone  with  my 
valet  I  reasoned  myself  out  of  the  grouchy  mood  into 
which  the  evidences  of  my  family's  fresh  access  of  folly 
had  thrown  me.  To  quarrel  with  them,  to  be  irritated 
against  them,  was  about  as  unreasonable  as  attacking  a 
black  man  for  not  being  white.  I  had  long  since  re 
alized,  as  the  result  of  much  experience  and  reflection, 
that  character  is  no  more  to  be  changed  than  any  other 
inborn  quality.  My  wife  had  been  born  an  aristocrat, 
and  had  brought  into  the  world  an  aristocratic  daugh 
ter.  She  was  to  be  blamed  neither  for  the  one  thing 
nor  for  the  other.  And  it  ill  became  my  pretensions 
to  superior  intellect  to  gird  at  her  and  at  Margot.  The 
thing  for  me  to  do  was  to  let  them  alone — keep  away. 

At  dinner,  which  was  served  in  our  apartment,  I 
took  a  different  tone  with  them,  and  they  met  me  more 
than  half  way.  So  cheered  was  my  lovely  daughter  that 
after  dinner  she  perched  on  the  arm  of  my  chair  and 
ventured  to  bring  up  the  dangerous  subject.  Said  she: 

"  You're  not  going  to  be  mean  to  me  and  run  away, 
are  you,  papa?  " 

207 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Looking  at  Edna,  but  addressing  Margot,  I  replied : 
"  Your  mother  will  tell  you  that  it's  best.  We  three 
never  can  agree  in  our  ideas  of  things.  I'm  an  irrita 
tion.  I  spoil  your  pleasure." 

"  No — no,  indeed !  "  cried  the  girl.  "  I've  been  look 
ing  forward  to  your  coming.  I've  been  telling  every 
body  how  handsome  and  superior  you  are.  And  I  want 
them  to  see  for  themselves." 

Most  pleasant  to  hear  from  such  rare  prettiness,  and 
most  sincerely  spoken. 

"  So  many  of  the  American  men  in  society  over  here 
are  common,"  proceeded  she,  "  and  even  those  who 
aren't  so  very  common  somehow  seem  so.  They  are 
down  on  their  knees  before  titles,  and  they  act — like 
servants.  Even  Mr.  Howard —  He  oughtn't  to  show 
his  feelings  so  plainly.  Of  course  we  all  feel  impressed 
and  honored  by  being  taken  up  by  real  titled  people  of 
old  families,  but  it's  such  bad  form  to  show,  and  it  inter 
feres  with  getting  on.  When  I'm  talking  to  Lord  Cross- 
ley  about  that  drawing-room,  I  act  as  if  it  were 
nothing." 

"  I  see  you  are  being  well  educated,"  said  I,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Mamma  and  I  have  worked.  We've  not 
had  an  idle  moment." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  I. 

"You  will  stay,  papa — won't  you?" 

I  shook  my  head.  But  it  was  no  longer  the  posi 
tive  gesture.  My  besetting  sin,  my  good  nature,  had 
possession  of  me.  Remember,  it  was  after  dinner,  and 
my  beautiful  daughter  was  caressing  my  cheek  and  was 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

pleading  in  a  voice  whose  modulations  had  been  cul 
tivated  by  the  best  masters  in  Paris. 

"  But  I  don't  want  people  to  think  I  was  deceiving 
them  about  my  papa." 

"  I'm  willing  to  be  exhibited  to  a  select  few  in  the 
next  two  or  three  days,"  I  conceded.  "  They  will  tell 
the  others." 

And  with  that  they  had  to  be  content.  In  the  faint 
hope  of  inducing  me  to  change  my  mind,  Edna — the 
devoid  of  the  sense  of  humor — took  me  to  a  tailor's 
and  had  me  shown  pictures  and  models  of  the  court 
costume  I  would  wear.  But  I  remained  firm.  A  sense 
of  humor  would  have  warned  her  that  a  person  of  my 
sort  would  have  an  aversion  to  liveries  of  every  kind, 
to  any  costume  that  stamps  a  man  as  one  of  a  class. 
I  am  perhaps  foolishly  jealous  of  my  own  individuality. 
But  I  cannot  help  it.  A  king  in  his  robes,  a  general  in 
his  uniform — except  in  battle  where  it's  as  necessary 
and  useful  as  night  shirt  or  pajamas  in  bed — any  sort 
of  livery  seems  pitiful  and  contemptible  to  me.  I  will 
wear  the  distinguishing  dress  of  the  human  race  and 
the  male  sex,  but  further  than  that  classification  I 
refuse  to  move.  Also,  what  business  had  I,  citizen  of 
a  democracy  whose  chief  idea  is  the  barbarism  and 
silliness  of  aristocracy — what  business  had  I  going  to 
see  a  king  and  a  queen?  I  should  have  felt  that  I  was 
aiding  them  in  the  triumph  of  dragging  democracy  at 
their  chariot  wheels.  No,  I  would  not  go  to  levees  and 
drawing-rooms.  You  may  say  I  showed  myself  an  ab 
surd  extremist.  Well,  perhaps  so.  But,  as  it  seems 
to  be  necessary  to  go  to  one  extreme  or  the  other,  I 

209 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

prefer  the  extreme  of  exaggerated  and  vainglorious 
self-respect. 

"  The  king  and  queen  are  no  doubt  nice  people," 
said  I  to  Margot.  "  But  if  I  meet  them,  it  must  be 
on  terms  of  equality — and  for  some  purpose  less  inane 
than  exchanging  a  few  set  phrases." 

Edna  and  Margot  seemed  to  feel  that  they  had, 
on  the  whole,  a  presentable  specimen  of  male  relative 
to  exhibit;  for  they  made  the  most  of  the  four  days  I 
gave  them.  Through  Hilda  Armitage,  now  Lady 
Blankenship,  and  much  freshened  up  by  the  more  con 
genial  atmosphere,  they  had  got  in  with  the  set  that  is 
the  least  easy  of  access  to  Americans — though,  of 
course,  it  is  not  actually  difficult  for  any  American 
with  plenty  of  money  and  a  willingness  to  spend  and 
good  guidance  in  how  to  spend.  And  I  must  admit 
I  enjoyed  myself  in  those  four  days.  The  women 
were,  for  the  most  part,  rather  slow,  though  I  recall 
two  who  had  real  intelligence,  and  I  don't  think 
there  was  a  single  one  quite  so  devoid  of  knowledge  of 
important  subjects  as  our  boasted  "bright"  Amer 
ican  women.  The  men  were  distinctly  attractive. 
They  had  information,  they  had  breadth — the  thing 
the  upper-class  men  of  America  often  lack.  Also, 
they  were  entirely  free  from  that  ill-at-easeness  about 
their  own  and  their  neighbor's  position  in  society 
which  makes  the  American  upper  classes  tiresome  and 
ridiculous. 

It  amused  me  to  observe  the  Americans  in  this  en 
vironment.  Both  our  women  and  our  men  seemed  un 
easy,  small,  pinched.  You  could  distinguish  the  Ameri- 

210 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

can  man  instantly  by  his  pinched,  tight  expression  of 
an  upper  servant  out  for  a  holiday.  I  could  feel  the 
same  thing  in  our  women,  but  I  doubt  not  their  looks 
and  dress  and  vivacity  concealed  it  from  the  English 
men.  Anyhow,  women  are  used  to  being  nothing  in 
themselves,  to  taking  rank  and  form  from  their  sur 
roundings.  While  with  us  it  seems  to  be  true  that  the 
women  are  wholly  responsible  for  social  position  with 
all  its  nonsense,  the  deeper  truth  is  that  they  owe  every 
thing  to  the  possessions  of  their  fathers  or  husbands. 
Without  that  backing  they  would  be  nothing.  Every 
thing  must  ultimately  rest  upon  a  substantiality.  In 
themselves,  unsupported,  the  women's  swollen  preten 
sions  would  vanish  into  thin  air. 

Lord  Crossley  was  to  have  dined  with  us  my  first 
evening  in  London,  but  was  prevented  by  suddenly 
arising  business  in  the  country.  Next  day  he  came 
to  lunch,  and  I  at  once  saw  that  he  was  after  Margot 
hammer  and  tongs.  I  discovered  it  not  by  the  way  he 
treated  her,  but  by  his  attitude  toward  her  mother  and 
me.  He  seemed  a  thoroughly  satisfactory  young  man 
in  every  way,  and  I  especially  liked  his  frankness  and 
simplicity.  Edna  had  devoted  a  large  part  of  a  long 
sight-seeing  tour  with  me  to  an  account  of  his  grand 
eur  in  the  British  aristocracy.  Having  had  experi 
ence  at  that  time  of  the  American  brand  of  aristocracy 
only,  I  was  ignorant  of  the  European  kinds  that  have 
the  aristocratic  instinct  in  the  most  acute  form — the 
ingrowing  form.  I  know  now  that  our  own  sort,  un 
pleasant  and  unsightly  though  it  is,  cannot  compare 
in  malignance,  in  littleness  and  meanness  of  soul  with 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  European  sort.  Just  as  the  noisy  blowhard  is  a 
modest  fellow  and  harmless,  and  on  acquaintance  lov 
able  in  comparison  with  the  silent,  brooding  egotist, 
just  so  is  the  American  aristocrat  in  comparison  with 
the  European.  An  American  aristocrat  has  been  known 
to  forget  himself  and  be  human.  I  recall  no  instance 
of  that  sort  in  an  European  born  and  bred  to  the  no 
tion  that  his  flesh  and  blood  are  of  a  subtler  material 
than  the  flesh  and  blood  of  most  men.  However,  as  I 
was  saying,  at  the  time  of  my  first  visit  to  Europe  I 
knew  nothing  of  these  matters,  and  Lord  Crossley 
seemed  to  me  a  simple,  ingenuous  young  man,  most 
attractively  boyish  for  his  years. 

"  That  chap  wants  to  marry  Margot,"  said  I  to 
Edna  when  we  were  alone  later  in  the  afternoon. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  she.  "  Several  young  men  wish 
to  marry  her.  But  she  is  in  no  hurry.  She's  not  nine 
teen  yet,  and  she  would  like  a  duke." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I.  "  But  she  may  not  be  able 
to  love  a  duke." 

<  "I  never  heard  of  a  girl  who  wouldn't  love  a  duke 
<if  she  got  the  chance,"  said  Edna.  "  There  are  only 
five — English  dukes,  I  mean — who  are  eligible.  Mar- 
got  has  met  three  of  them — and  one,  the  Duke  of  Brest- 
well,  has  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  her."  Carelessly,  but 
with  nervous  anxiety  underneath,  "  You  wouldn't  have 
any  objection?  " 

"I?     Why?" 

"  Oh — you  are  so — so  peculiar  in  some  ways." 

66  Anyone  who  pleases  Margot  will  suit  me,"  said  I. 

"  We    were    afraid    you'd    be    prejudiced    against 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

titles.  You've  been  with  that  eccentric  Mr.  Armitage 
so  much — and  you  always  have  been  against  the  sort 
of  things  Margot  and  I  like." 

"  I've  no  objection  to  titles,"  said  I.  "  In  fact,  I 
think  Margot  will  be  happier  if  she  marries  a  title. 
You've  educated  her  so  well  that  she'll  never  see  the 
man  or  think  of  him." 

"  How  little  you  know  her !  "  cried  Edna,  pathet 
ically.  "  And  how  unjust  to  me  your  prejudices  make 
you.  I've  brought  her  up  to  be  all  refinement — all 
sentiment — all  heart.  She  looks  only  at  the  highest 
and  best." 

"  At  the  duke,"  said  I. 

"Certainly  at  the  duke,"  said  she.  "Her  tastes 
are  for  the  life  where  a  woman  can  show  her  beauty  of 
soul  to  the  best  advantage  and  can  do  the  most  good. 
There  is  no  career  for  a  woman  in  America.  But  over 
here  a  woman  married  into  the  aristocracy  has  a  real 
career." 

"At  what?"  said  I. 

"  As  a  recognized  social  leader.  As  a  leader  in 
charities  and  all  sorts  of  good  movements." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  said  I — and  there  I  stopped,  for  I  had 
learned  not  to  argue  with  my  wife — or  with  anyone 
else,  male  or  female — when  the  subject  is  sheer  twaddle. 
"  Yes,  I  think  Margot  would  do  well  to  marry  over 
here  and  to  have  a  dazzling  career.  I'm  sure  she'd 
never  get  tired  of  this — pardon  me — treadmill.  I  ob 
serve  that  it's  better  organized  than  the  imitation  one 
we  have  over  in  *  the  States.' ' 

"  I  should  say !  "   cried  Edna.     "  You've  no  idea 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

how  cheap  and  common  the  best  you  have  in  New  York 
is  beside  the  social  life  here.  I've  been  here  only  a 
year,  but  already  there  have  been  the  greatest  changes 
in  me.  Don't  you  notice?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  I.  "  And  I  can  honestly  say  you  have 
changed  for  the  better.  You've  learned  to  cover 
it  up." 

She  looked  inquiringly  at  me,  but  I  did  not  care 
to  explain  what  the  "  it "  was  that  she  had  learned  to 
cover.  A  slight  flush  appeared  in  her  cheeks,  and  I 
knew  intuitively  that  she  thought  I  was  alluding  to  her 
humble  origin.  I  did  not  disabuse  her  mind  of  this 
impression.  She  would  have  been  angry  had  I  ex 
plained  that  I  meant  her  social  ambitions  which  I 
thought  vulgar  and  she  thought  refined.  Both  she  and 
Margot,  except  in  occasional  unguarded  moments  in 
privacy,  had  indeed  vastly  improved  in  manners.  They 
had  learned  the  trick  of  the  aristocrats  they  associated 
with — the  trick  of  affecting  simplicity  and  equality  and 
quietly  confident  ease.  There  was  a  notable  difference, 
and  altogether  in  their  favor,  between  their  manners 
and  the  manners  of  the  former  Mrs.  Armitage  and 
other  American  women.  Whatever  might  justly  be 
said  in  the  way  of  criticism  of  my  wife,  it  assuredly 
could  not  be  said  that  she  was  lacking  in  agility  at 
"  catching  on."  Armitage  once  said  to  me,  "  Your 
wife  is  a  marvelous  woman.  I  never  saw  or  heard  of 
her  making  a  break."  This  tribute  can  be  appreciated 
only  when  you  recall  whence  she  sprung — and  how 
much  of  her  origin  remained  with  her — necessarily — 
through  all  her  climbings  and  soarings. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You  prefer  it  over  here  ?  "  said  I — we  were  still 
driving. 

"  If  it  weren't  for  you,  I'd  never  go  back,"  said  she. 

"  For  me?  "  said  I.     "  Oh,  don't  bother  about  me." 

"  But  I  do,"  replied  she  sweetly.  And  her  hand 
covertly  stole  into  mine  for  a  moment.  "  Sometimes 
I  get  so  homesick,  Godfrey,  that's  it  all  I  can  do  to 
fight  off  the  impulse  to  take  the  first  steamer." 

I  tried  to  look  as  a  man  should  on  hearing  such 
pleasant  and  praiseworthy  sentiments  from  the  wife  of 
his  bosom. 

"  You've  acted  cold  and — and  reserved  with  me,"  she 
went  on.  "  I  wanted  to  come  to  you  last  night.  But 
I  hadn't  the  courage.  You  are  such  a  mixture  of  tender 
ness  and — and  aloofness.  You  have  the  power  to  make 
even  me  feel  like  a  stranger." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  mean  to  be  that  way,"  said  I, 
thoroughly  uncomfortable. 

"  Margot  was  speaking  of  it,"  proceeded  Edna. 
"  She  said — poor  affectionate  child — that  she  hardly 
dared  put  her  arms  round  you  and  kiss  you.  You 
oughtn't  to,  repulse  the  child  that  way,  Godfrey.  She 
has  a  tender,  loving  heart.  And  she  adores  you.  She 
and  I  talk  of  you  a  long  time  every  day.  I'd  insist 
on  it  as  a  matter  of  duty — for  I'd  not  let  your  child 
forget  you.  But  I  don't  need  to  insist.  She  refers 
everything  to  you,  and  whenever  she's  unusually  happy, 
she  always  says:  *  If  papa  could  only  be  enjoying  this 
with  us ! '  " 

I  saw  that  she  had  worked  herself  up  into  a  state 
of  excitement.  My  good  sense  told  me  that  there  was 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

no  genuineness  in  either  her  affection  or  Margot's.    But 
I  had  no  doubt  they  both  thought  themselves  genuine. 
And  that  was  quite  enough  to  give  me,  the  easy-going 
American  slob  of  a  husband  and  father,  an  acute  attack' 
of  guilty  conscience.     The  upshot  was 

But  you  who  have  an  impressionable  heart  and  a 
keen  sense  of  your  own  shortcomings  can  guess  what 
it  was.  Edna  and  I  resumed  the  relations  of  affec 
tionate  husband  and  wife  for  the  rest  of  my — brief — 
stop  in  London.  I  remained  several  days  longer  than 
I  had  intended — stayed  on  because  I  did  not  wish  to 
hurt  her  feelings.  And  I  bought  her  and  Margot  all 
sorts  of  jewelry  and  gew-gaws,  largely  increased  her 
personal  fortune,  did  not  utter  a  word  that  would  ruffle 
either  of  them.  And  I  left  them  convinced  that  I  was 
going  only  because  business  not  to  be  neglected  com 
pelled. 

They  say  that  the  hypocrite  wife  is  a  common  oc 
currence.  I  wonder  if  the  hypocrite  husband  is  rare. 
I  wonder  if  there  are  not  more  instances  than  this 
one  of  the  husband  and  the  wife  playing  a  cross  game 
of  hypocrisy,  with  each  fancying  the  other  deceived? 

So  busy  was  I  with  my  own  laborings  to  deceive 
my  wife  as  to  the  true  state  of  my  feelings  toward  her 
that  not  until  I  was  halfway  across  the  Atlantic  did  I 
happen  to  think  the  obvious  thought.  You,  gentle 
reader,  have  not  thought  it.  But  perhaps  some  more 
intelligent  species  of  reader  has.  In  mid-Atlantic,  I 
suddenly  thought :  "  Why  she — she  and  Margot — were 
playing  a  game — the  same  game.  For  what  purpose?  " 

It  was  not  many  months  before  I  found  out. 


VII 


THAT  summer  Armitage  was  spending  the  week 
ends  out  on  Long  Island  at  the  country  place  of  his 
sister,  Mrs.  Kirkwood.  He  kept  his  yacht  in  the  tiny 
harbor  there  and  made  short  cruises  in  the  Sound 
and  up  the  New  England  coast.  Naturally  I  often 
went  with  him.  Those  parties  usually  amused  me.  He 
knew  a  dozen  interesting  people — working  people — 
such  as  Boris  Raphael,  the  painter,  and  his  wife,  the 
architect,  the  Horace  Armstrongs  who  had  been  di 
vorced  and  remarried,  a  novelist  named  Beechman  who 
wrote  about  the  woods  and  lived  in  the  wilderness  in 
the  Southwest  most  of  the  year,  Susan  Lenox  the  actress 
— several  others  of  the  same  kind.  Then  there  was 
his  sister — Mary  Kirkwood. 

For  a  reason  which  will  presently  appear  I  have 
not  before  spoken  of  Mrs.  Kirkwood,  though  I  had 
known  her  longer  than  I  had  known  Armitage.  Her 
husband  had  been  treasurer  of  the  road  when  I  was 
an  under  Vice  President.  He  speculated  in  the  road's 
funds  and  it  so  happened  that,  when  he  was  about  to 
be  caught,  I  was  the  only  man  who  could  save  him  from 
exposure.  Instead  of  asking  me  directly,  he  sent  his 
wife  to  me.  I  can  see  her  now  as  she  was  that  day — 
pale,  haggard,  but  with  that  perfect  composure  which 
deceives  the  average  human  being  into  thinking,  "  Here 

217 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

is  a  person  without  nerves."  She  told  me  the  whole 
story  in  the  manner  of  one  relating  a  matter  in  which 
he  has  a  sympathetic  but  remote  interest.  She  made 
not  the  smallest  attempt  to  work  upon  my  feelings,  to 
move  me  to  pity.  "  And,"  she  ended,  "  if  you  will  help 
him  cover  up  the  shortage,  it  will  be  made  good  and 
he  will  resign.  I  shall  see  to  it  that  he  does  not  take 
another  position  of  trust." 

"Why  didn't  he  come  to  me,  himself?"  said  I. 
"  Why  did  he  send  you?  " 

She  looked  at  me — a  steady  gaze  from  a  pair  of 
melancholy  gray  eyes.  "  I  cannot  answer  that,"  said 
she. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  I ;  for  I  guessed 
the  answer  to  my  question  even  as  I  was  asking  it.  I 
knew  the  man — an  arrogant  coward,  with  the  vanity 
to  lure  him  into  doing  preposterous  things  and  wilting 
weakness  the  instant  trouble  began  to  gather.  "  You 
wish  me  to  save  him?  "  I  said,  still  confused  and  not 
knowing  how  to  meet  the  situation. 

"  I  am  asking  rather  for  myself,"  replied  she.  "  I 
married  him  against  my  father's  wishes  and  warning. 
I  have  not  loved  him  since  the  second  month  of  our 
marriage.  If  he  should  be  exposed,  I  think  the  dis 
grace  would  kill  me."  Her  lip  curled  in  self-scorn. 
"  A  queer  kind  of  pride,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  To  be 
able  to  live  through  the  real  shame,  and  to  shrink  only 
from  the  false." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  I,  with  a  sudden  complete  change 
of  intention.  "  That  is,  if  you  promise  me  he  will 
resign  and  not  try  to  get  a  similar  position  elsewhere." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


66 1  promise,"  said  she,  rising,  to  show  that  she  was 
taking  not  a  moment  more  of  my  time  than  was  un 
avoidable.  "  And  I  thank  you  " — and  that  was  all. 

I  kept  my  part  of  the  agreement;  she  kept  hers. 
In  about  two  years  she  divorced  him  because  he  was 
flagrantly  untrue  to  her.  He  married  the  woman  and 
supported  her  and  himself  on  the  allowance  Mary  Kirk- 
wood  made  him  as  soon  as  her  father's  death  let  her  into 
her  share  of  the  property.  When  I  saw  her  again — 
one  night  at  dinner  at  her  brother's  house,  before  his 
wife  divorced  him — we  met  as  if  we  were  entire  stran 
gers.  Neither  of  us  made  the  remotest  allusion  to  that 
first  meeting. 

Going  down  to  her  house  with  Armitage  often  and 
being  with  her  on  the  yacht  for  days  together,  I  became 
fairly  well  acquainted  with  her,  although  she  maintained 
the  reserve  which  she  did  not  increase  for  a  stranger 
or  drop  even  with  her  brother.  You  felt  as  if  her 
personality  were  a  large  and  interesting  house,  with 
room  after  room  worth  seeing,  most  attractive — but 
that  no  one  ever  was  admitted  beyond  the  drawing- 
room,  not  for  a  glimpse. 

Don't  picture  her  as  of  the  somber  sort  of  person. 
A  real  tragedy  can  befall  only  a  person  with  a  highly 
sensitive  nature.  Such  persons  always  have  sense  of 
proportion  and  sense  of  humor.  They  do  not  exag 
gerate  themselves;  they  see  the  amusing  side  of  the 
antics  of  the  human  animal.  So  they  do  not  pull  long 
faces  and  swathe  themselves  in  yards  of  crepe  and  try 
to  create  an  impression  of  dark  and  gloomy  sorrow. 
They  do  not  find  woe  a  luxury;  they  know  it  in  its 

219 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

grim  horror.  They  strive  to  get  the  joy  out  of  life. 
So,  looking  at  Mary  Kirkwood,  you  would  never  have 
suspected  a  secret  of  sadness,  a  blighted  life.  As  her 
reserve  did  not  come  from  self-consciousness — either  the 
self -consciousness  of  haughtiness  or  that  of  shyness  and 
greenness — you  did  not  even  suspect  reserve  until  you  ' 
had  known  her  long  and  had  tried  in  vain  to  get 
as  well  acquainted  with  her  as  you  thought  you  were 
at  first.  I  imagine  that  in  our  talk  in  my  office  about 
her  husband  I  got  further  into  the  secret  of  her  than 
anyone  else  ever  had. 

One  detail  I  shall  put  by  itself,  so  important  does 
it  seem  to  me.  She  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor.  It 
was  not  merely  passive,  merely  appreciation,  as  the 
sense  of  humor  is  apt  to  be  in  women — where  it  exists 
at  all.  It  was  also  active;  she  said  droll  and  even 
witty  things.  When  her  sense  of  humor  was  aroused, 
her  eyes  were  bewitching. 

What  did  she  look  like?  The  women  all  wish  to 
know  this ;  for,  being  fond  of  the  evanescent  triumphs 
over  the  male  which  beauty  of  face  or  form  gives,  and 
as  a  rule  having  experience  only  of  those  petty  vic 
tories,  they  fancy  that  looks  are  the  important  factor, 
the  all-important  factor.  In  fact,  the  real  conquests 
of  women  are  not  won  by  looks.  Beauty,  or,  rather, 
physical  charm  of  some  kind,  is  the  lure  that  draws  the 
desired  male  within  range.  If  after  pausing  a  while 
he  finds  nothing  more,  he  is  off  again. 

Perhaps,  probably,  my  experience  with  Edna  has 
made  me  more  indifferent  to  looks  than  the  average  man 
who  has  never  realized  his  longing  to  possess  a  phjs- 

220 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ically  beautiful  woman.  However  that  may  be,  Mary 
Kirkwood  certainly  had  no  cause  to  complain  that 
Nature  had  not  been  generous  to  her  in  the  matter  of 
looks.  She  was  tall,  she  was  slender.  She  had  a  delicate 
oval  face,  a  skin  that  was  clear  and  smooth  and  dark 
with  the  much  prized  olive  tints  in  it.  She  had  a  beau 
tiful  long  neck,  a  great  quantity  of  almost  black  hair. 
Her  nose  suggested  pride,  her  mouth  mockery,  her  eyes 
sincerity.  She  was  the  kind  of  woman  who  exercises 
a  powerful  physical  fascination  over  men,  and  at  the 
same  time  makes  them  afraid  to,  show  their  feelings. 
Women  like  that  tantalize  with  visions  of  what  they 
could  and  would  give  the  man  they  loved,  but  make 
each  man  feel  that  it  would  be  idle  for  him  to  hope. 
In  character  she  was  very  different  from  her  cynical, 
mocking  brother — was,  I  imagine,  more  like  her  father. 
Mentally  the  resemblance  between  the  brother  and  sister 
was  strong — but  she  took  pains  to  conceal  how  much 
she  knew,  where  he  found  his  chief  pleasure  in  "  showing 
off."  I  feel  I  have  fallen  pitifully  short  of  doing  her 
justice  in  this  description.  But  who  can  put  into  words 
such  a  subtlety  as  charm  ?  She  had  it — for  men.  Wom 
en  did  not  like  her — nor  she  them.  I  state  this  without 
fear  of  prejudicing  either  women  or  men  against  her. 
Why  is  it,  by  the  way,  that  to  say  a  man  does  not  like 
men  and  is  not  liked  by  them  is  to  damn  him  utterly, 
while  to  say  that  a  woman  neither  likes  nor  is  liked  by 
her  own  sex  is  rather  to  speak  in  her  favor?  You  cry 
indignantly,  "  Not  true !  "  gentle  reader.  But — do  you 
know  what  is  true  and  what  not  true?  And,  if  you 
did,  would  you  confess  it,  even  to  yourself? 
15 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

You  are  proceeding  to  revenge  yourself  upon  me. 
You  are  saying,  "  Now  we  know  why  he  was  indiffer 
ent  to  his  beautiful  wife  and  to  his  lovely  daughter! — • 
Now  we  understand  that  fit  of  guilty  conscience  in 
London!" 

Do  you  know?  Perhaps.  I  am  not  sure.  I  am 
not  conscious  of  any  especial  interest  in  Mary  Kirk- 
wood  until  after  I  came  back  from  London.  I  had  seen 
her  but  a  few  times.  We  had  never  talked  so  long  as 
five  consecutive  minutes,  and  then  we  had  talked  com 
monplaces.  Not  the  commonplaces  of  fashionable  peo 
ple,  but  the  commonplaces  of  intelligent  people.  There's 
an  enormous  difference. 

The  first  time  my  memory  records  her  with  the  vivid 
ness  of  moving  pictures  is,  of  course,  at  that  meeting  in 
my  office.  The  next  time  is  a  few  days  after  my  return 
from  London.  I  had  been  surfeited  both  in  London  and 
on  the  steamer  with  the  inane  amateurs  at  life,  the  shal 
low  elegant  dabblers  in  it,  interesting  themselves  only 
in  coaching,  bridge,  and  similar  pastimes  worthy  an 
asylum  for  the  feeble-minded.  I  went  down  to  the  Kirk- 
v/ood  place  with  Armitage.  As  his  sister  was  not  in 
the  house  we  set  out  for  a  walk  through  the  grounds  to 
find  her.  At  the  outer  edge  of  the  gardens  a  workman 
told  us  that  if  we  would  follow  a  path  through  the 
swampy  woods  we  could  not  miss  her. 

The  path  was  the  roughest  kind  of  a  trail.  Our 
journey  was  beset  with  swarms  of  insects,  most  of  them 
mosquitoes  in  savage  humor.  It  lay  along  the  course 
of  a  sluggish  narrow  stream  that  looked  malarious  and 
undoubtedly  was.  "  Landscape  gardening  is  one  of 

222 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Mary's  fads,"  explained  her  brother.  "  She  has  been 
planning  to  tackle  this  swamp  for  several  years.  Now 
she  is  at  it." 

In  the  depths  of  the  morass  we  came  upon  her.  She 
was  in  man's  clothes — laboring  man's  clothes.  Her 
face  and  neck  were  protected  by  veils,  her  hands  by 
gloves.  She  was  toiling  away  with  a  gang  of  men  at 
clearing  the  ground  where  the  drains  were  to  center  in 
an  artificial  lake.  Armitage  called  several  times  be 
fore  she  heard.  Then  she  dropped  her  ax  and  came 
forward  to  meet  us.  There  was  certainly  nothing  of 
what  is  usually  regarded  as  feminine  allure  about  her. 
Yet  never  had  I  seen  a  woman  more  fascinating.  There 
undoubtedly  was  charm  in  her  face  and  in  her  strong, 
slender  figure.  But  I  believe  the  real  charm  of  charms 
for  me  was  the  spectacle  of  a  woman  usefully  employed. 
A  woman  actually  doing  something.  A  woman ! 

After  the  greeting  she  said :  "  The  only  way  I  can 
get  the  men  to  work  in  this  pesthole  is  by  working  with 
them."  She  smiled  merrily.  "  One  doesn't  look  so  well 
as  in  a  fresh  tennis  suit  wielding  a  racket.  But  I  can't 
bear  doing  things  that  have  no  results." 

"  My  father  insisted  on  bringing  us  up  in  the  com 
monest  way  and  with  the  commonest  tastes,"  said  Armi 
tage,  "  and  Mary  has  remained  even  less  the  lady  than 
I  am  the  gentleman." 

As  the  mosquitoes  were  tearing  us  to  pieces  Mrs. 
Kirkwood  ordered  us  back  to  the  house.  Before  we  were 
out  of  sight  she  was  leading  on  her  gang  and  wielding 
the  ax  again.  At  dinner  she  appeared  in  all  the  radi 
ance  and  grace  of  the  beautiful  woman  with  fondness  for 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

and  taste  in  dress.  She  explained  to  me  her  plan — how 
swamp  and  sluggish,  rotting  brook  were  to  be  trans 
formed  into  a  wooded  park  with  a  swift,  clear  stream 
and  a  succession  of  cascades.  I  may  add,  she  carried 
out  the  plan,  and  the  results  were  even  beyond  what  my 
imagination  pictured  as  she  talked. 

This  first  view  of  her  life  in  the  country  set  me  to 
observing  her  closely — perhaps  more  closely  and  from  a 
different  standpoint  than  a  man  usually  observes  a 
woman.  In  all  she  did  I  saw  the  same  rare  and  fascinat 
ing  imagination — the  only  kind  of  imagination  worth 
while.  Of  all  its  stupidities  and  follies  none  so  com 
pletely  convicts  the  human  race  of  shallowness  and  bad 
taste  as  its  notions  of  what  is  romantic  and  idealistic. 
The  more  elegant  the  human  animal  flatters  itself  it  is, 
the  poorer  are  its  ideals — that  is,  the  further  removed 
from  the  practical  and  the  useful.  So,  you  rarely  find 
|  a  woman  with  so  much  true  poetry,  true  romance,  true 
( imagination  as  to  keep  house  well.  But  Mary  Kirkwood 
kept  house  as  a  truly  great  artist  paints  a  picture,  as 
a  truly  great  composer  creates  an  opera.  In  all  her 
house  there  was  not  a  trace  of  the  crude,  costly  luxury 
that  rivals  the  squalor  and  bareness  of  poverty  in  re- 
pulsiveness  to  people  of  sense  and  taste.  But  what 
comfort!  What  splendid  cooking,  what  perfection  of 
service.  The  chairs  and  sofas,  the  beds,  the  linen,  the 
hundred  and  one  small  but  important  devices  for  facili 
tating  the  material  side  of  life,  and  so  putting  mind  and 
spirit  in  the  mood  for  their  best —  But  I  despair  of 
making  you  realize.  I  should  have  to  catalogue,  de 
scribe,  contrast  through  page  after  page.  And  when  I 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

had  finished,  those  who  understand  what  the  phrase  art 
of  living  means  would  have  read  only  what  they  already 
know,  while  those  who  do  not  understand  that  phrase 
would  be  convulsed  with  the  cackling  laughter  that  is 
the  tribute  of  mush-brain  to  intellect. 

Observing  Mary  Kirkwood  I  discovered  a  great 
truth  about  the  woman  question :  the  cruelest  indictment 
of  the  intellect  of  woman  is  the  crude,  archaic,  futile, 
and  unimaginative  way  in  which  is  carried  on  the  part 
of  life  that  is  woman's  peculiar  work — or,  rather,  is- 
messed,  muddled,  slopped,  and  neglected.  No  doubt  this 
is  not  their  fault.  But  it  soon  will  be  if  they  don't  be 
stir  themselves.  Already  there  are  American  men  not 
a  few  who  apologize  for  having  married  as  a  folly  of  their 
green  and  silly  youth. 

So,  gentle  reader,  though  my  enthusiasm  tempts  me 
to  describe  Mary  Kirkwood's  housekeeping  in  detail,  I 
shall  spare  you.  You  would  not  read.  You  would  not 
understand  if  you  did. 

The  first  time  she  and  I  approached  the  confidential 
was  on  an  August  evening  when  we  were  alone  on  the 
upper  deck  of  the  yacht.  The  others  were  in  the  cabin 
playing  bridge.  We  had  been  sitting  there  perhaps  an 
hour  when  she  rose. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  I. 

"  I  thought  you  wished  to  be  alone,"  said  she. 

"Why  did  you  think  that?  " 

"  Your  way  of  answering  me.  You've  been  almost 
curt." 

"  I'm  sorry.  I  can't  promise  to  talk  if  you  stay. 
But  I  hate  to  be  left  alone  with  my  thoughts." 

225 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  understand,"  said  she.  And  she  seated  herself 
beside  the  rail,  and  with  my  assistance  lighted  a  cig 
arette. 

There  was  a  moon  somewhere  above  the  awning  which 
gave  us  a  roof.  By  the  dim,  uncertain  light  I  could 
make  out  her  features.  It  seemed  to  me  she  was  staying 
as  much  on  her  own  account  as  on  mine — because  she, 
too,  wished  not  to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts.  I  had 
not  in  a  long  time  seen  her  in  a  frankly  serious  mood. 

"  How  much  better  off  a  man  is  than  a  woman,"  said 
I.  "  A  man  has  his  career  to  think  about,  while  a  woman 
usually  has  only  herself." 

"  Only  herself,"  echoed  she  absently.  "  And  if  one 
is  able  to  think,  oneself  is  an  unsatisfactory  subject." 

"  Extremely,"  said  I.    "  Faults,  follies,  failures." 

For  a  time  I  watched  the  faintly  glowing  end  of  her 
cigarette  and  the  slim  fingers  that  held  it  gracefully. 
Then  she  said: 

"  Do  you  believe  in  a  future  life?  " 

"  Does  anyone  feel  sure  of  any  life  but  this  ?  " 

"  Then  this  is  one's  only  chance  to  get  what  one 
wants — what's  worth  while." 

"  What  is  worth  while  ? "  I  inquired,  feeling  the 
charm  of  her  quiet,  sweet  voice  issuing  upon  the  mag 
ical  stillness.  "  What  is  worth  while?  " 

She  laughed  softly.     "  What  one  wants." 

"  And  what  do  you  want?  " 

She  drew  her  white  scarf  closer  about  her  bare  shoul 
ders,  smiled  queerly  out  over  the  lazily  rippling  waters. 
"  Love  and  children,"  she  said.  "  I'm  a  normal  woman." 

That  amused  me.  "  Normal?  Why,  you're  unique 
226 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

— eccentric.  Most  women  want  money — and  yet  more 
money — and  yet  more  money — for  more  and  more  and 
always  more  show." 

"  You  must  want  the  same  thing,"  retorted  she. 
"  You're  too  sensible  not  to  know  you  can't  possibly  do 
any  good  to  others  with  money.  So  you  must  want  it 
for  your  own  selfish  purposes.  It's  every  bit  as  much 
for  show  when  you  have  it  tucked  away  in  large  masses 
for  people  to  gape  at  as  if  you  were  throwing  it  round 
as  the  women  do.  ...  If  anything,  your  passion  is 
cruder  than  theirs." 

"  I  think  I  make  money,"  said  I,  "  for  the  same  rea 
sons  that  a  hen  lays  eggs  or  a  cow  gives  milk — because 
I  can't  help  it;  because  I  can't  do  anything  else  and 
must  do  something." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  do  anything  else?  " 

"  No,"  I  admitted.  Then  I  added,  "  I  never  had  the 
chance." 

"  True,"  she  said  reflectively.  "  A  hen  can't  give 
milk  and  a  cow  can't  lay  eggs." 

"  For  some  time,"  I  went  on,  "  I've  been  trying  to 
find  something  else  to  do.  Something  interesting.  No, 
not  exactly  that  either.  I  must  find  some  way  of  reviv 
ing  my  interest  in  life.  The  things  I  am  doing  would 
be  interesting  enough  if  I  could  be  interested  in  anything 
at  all.  But  I'm  not." 

She  nodded  slowly.  "  I'm  in  the  same  state,"  said 
she.  "  I've  about  decided  what  to  do." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  I  encouragingly. 

66  Marry  again,"  replied  she. 

I  laughed  outright.  "  That's  very  unoriginal,"  said 
227 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I.     "  It  puts  you  in  with  the  rest  of  the  women.    Mar 
rying  is  all  they  can  think  of  doing." 

"  But  you  don't  quite  understand,"  said  she.  "  / 
want  children.  I  am  thinking  of  selecting  some  trust 
worthy  man  with  good  physical  and  mental  qualities. 
I  have  had  experience.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  judge — 
and  not  being  in  love  with  him  I  shall  not  be  so  likely 
to  make  a  mistake.  I  shall  marry,  and  the  children  will 
give  me  love  and  occupation.  You  may  laugh,  but  I  tell 
you  the  only  occupation  worthy  of  a  man  or  a  woman  is 
bringing  up  children.  All  the  rest — for  men  as  well  as 
for  women — is — is  like  a  hen  laying  eggs  to  rot  in  the 
weeds.  .  .  .  Bringing  up  children  to  develop  us,  to 
give  us  a  chance  to  make  them  an  improvement  on  our 
selves.  That's  the  best." 

As  the  full  meaning  of  what  she  had  said  unfolded 
I  was  filled  with  astonishment.  How  clear  and  simple — 
how  true.  Why  had  I  not  seen  this  long  ago — why  had 
it  been  necessary  to  have  it  pointed  out  by  another? 
"  I  believe — yes,  I'm  sure — that's  what  I've  been  grop 
ing  for,"  I  said  to  her. 

"  I  thought  you'd  understand,"  said  she,  and  most 
flattering  was  her  tone  of  pleasure  at  my  obvious  ad 
miration. 

Thus  our  friendship  was  born. 

I  could  not  but  envy  her  freedom  to  seek  to  satisfy 
the  longing  I  thus  discovered  in  my  own  heart.  So 
strongly  did  the  mood  for  confidence  possess  me  that 
only  my  long  and  hard  training  in  self-restraint  held 
me  from  the  disloyalty  of  speaking  my  thoughts.  I 
said : 

228 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  It's  dismal  to  grow  old  with  no  ties  in  the  oncom 
ing  generation.  The  sense  of  the  utter  futility  of  life 
would  weigh  more  and  more  heavily.  I'm  surprised  that 
you've  realized  it  so  young." 

"  A  woman  realizes  it  earlier  than  a  man,"  she  re 
minded  me.  "  For  a  woman  has  no  career  to  interfere 
and  prevent  her  seeing  the  truth." 

A  woman!  Rather,  a  rare  occasional  Mary  Kirk- 
wood.  Most  women  never  looked  beyond  the  gratifica 
tion  of  the  crudest,  easiest  vanities  and  appetites.  "  Yes, 
you  are  right,"  I  continued.  "  You  ought  to  marry — as 
soon  as  you  can.  The  man  isn't  important,  except  in 
the  ways  you  spoke  of.  So  far  as  man  and  woman  love 
is  concerned,  that  quickly  passes — where  it  ever  exists 
at  all.  But  the  bond  of  father,  mother,  and  children  is 
enduring — at  least,  I'm  sure  you  would  make  it  so." 

We  sat  lost  in  thought  for  some  time — I  reflecting 
moodily  upon  my  own  baffled  and  now  seemingly  hope 
less  longing,  she  probably  busy  with  the  ideas  suggested 
in  her  next  speech. 

"  The  main  trouble  is  money,"  said  she.  "  Except 
for  that  my  husband  would  have  been  all  right.  When 
we  first  met  he  did  not  know  my  family  had  wealth.  He 
thought  I  belonged  to  another  and  poor  branch.  And  I 
think  he  cared  for  me,  and  would  have  been  the  man  I 
sought  but  for  the  money.  It  roused  a  dormant  side  of 
his  nature,  and  everything  went  to  pieces." 

"  Then,  marry  a  rich  man,"  I  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know  a  single  rich 
man — except  possibly  my  brother — who  isn't  obsessed 
s-bout  money.  The  rich  have  a  craving  to  be  richer  that's 

229 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

worse  than  the  desire  of  the  poor  to  be  rich.  ...  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  couldn't  bring  up  children  in  the 
atmosphere  of  wealth  and  caste  and  show — the  sort  of 
atmosphere  a  man  or  woman  crazy  about  money  insists 
on  creating.  My  father  was  right.  He  was  a  really 
wise  man.  I  owe  to  him  every  good  instinct  and  good 
idea  I  have." 

"  But  you  must  have  seen  some  man  who  promised 
well.  I  think  you  can  trust  to  your  judgment.  You 
mustn't  defeat  your  one  chance  for  happiness  by  over- 
caution." 

Again  she  was  silent  for  several  minutes.  Then  she 
said,  with  a  queer  laugh  and  an  embarrassed  movement : 
"  I  have  seen  such  a  man — lately.  I  like  him.  I  think 
I  could  like  him  more  than  a  little.  I've  an  idea  he  might 
care  for  me  if  I'd  let  him.  But — I  don't  know." 

I  saw  that  she  longed  to  confide,  but  wished  to  be 
questioned.  "  Here  on  the  yacht?  "  said  I. 

She  nodded. 

"Beechman?" 

She  laughed  shyly  yet  with  amusement. 

"  That  was  an  easy  guess,"  said  I.  "  He's  the  only 
man  of  us  free  to  marry." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  The  very  man  I'd  say,"  replied  I.  "  He's  good  to 
look  at — clever,  healthy,  and  honest.  He  isn't  money 
mad.  He  could  make  quite  a  splurge  with  what  he 
has,  yet  he  doesn't.  He  is  a  serious  man — does  not  let 
them  tempt  him  into  fashionable  society  or  any  other 
kind." 

"  What  are  the  objections?  "  said  she.  "  My  father 
230 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

trained  us  to  look  for  the  rotten  spots,  as  he  called  them.  }i 
He  said  one  ought  to  hunt  them  out  and  examine  them  J 
carefully.      Then   if,  in   spite  of  them,  the  thing  still 
looked  good,  why  there  was  a  chance  of  its  being  worth 
taking." 

"  That's  precisely  my  way  of  proceeding  in  busi 
ness,"  said  I.  "  It's  a  pity  it  isn't  used  in  every  part  of 
life — from  marketing  up  to  choosing  a  friend  or  a  hus 
band." 

"  Well,  what  are  the  '  rotten  spots  '  in  Mr.  Beech- 
man?" 

"  I  haven't  looked  for  them,"  said  I.  "  No  doubt 
they're  there,  but  as  they're  not  obvious  they  may  be 
unimportant." 

"  Can't  you  think  of  any?  " 

She  was  laughing,  and  so  was  I.  Poor  Beechman, 
down  in  the  cabin  absorbed  in  bridge,  how  amazed  he'd 
have  been  if  he  could  have  heard !  In  my  mind's  eye  I 
was  looking  him  over — a  tall,  fair  man  with  good  smooth- 
shaven  features. 

"  He's  getting  bald  rather  rapidly  for  a  man  of 
thirty  or  thereabouts,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  like  baldness,"  said  she.  "  But  I  can  en 
dure  it." 

"  He  is  distinctly  vain  of  his  looks  and  his  strength. 
But  he  has  cause  to  be." 

"  All  men  are  physically  vain,"  said  she.  "  And  they 
can't  help  it,  because  it  is  the  hereditary  quality  of  the 
male  from  fishes  and  reptiles  up." 

"  He's  inclined  to  be  opinionated,  and  his  point  of 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  think  I  might  hope  to  educate  him  out  of  that," 
said  she.  "  I  can  be  tactful." 

"  It's  certainly  not  a  serious  objection." 

66  Any  other  spots  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  certain — a  certain — lack  of  vigor.  It's 
a  thing  I've  observed  in  all  professional  men,  except 
those  of  the  first  rank,  those  who  are  really  men  of 
action." 

She  nodded.  "  I  was  waiting  for  that,"  said  she. 
"  It's  the  thing  that  has  made  me  hesitate."  She  laughed 
outright.  "  What  a  conceited  speech !  But  I'm  expos 
ing  myself  fully  to  you." 

"Why  not?  "said  I. 

"  I  am  picking  him  to  pieces  as  if  I  thought  myself 
perfection.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  know  he'd  fly  from 
me  if  he  saw  me  as  I  am."  She  reflected,  laughed 
quietly.  "  But  he  never  would  know  me  as  I  am.  An 
unconventional  woman — if  she's  sensible — only  shows 
enough  of  her  variation  from  the  pattern  to  make  her 
self  interesting — never  enough  to  be  alarming." 

"  You  are  unconventional  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  suspect  it?  " 

"  No.  You  smoke  cigarettes — but  that  has  ceased 
to  be  unconventional." 

"  I  rather  thought  you  had  a  favorable  opinion  of 
my  intelligence,"  said  she. 

"So  I  have,"  said  I.  "To  be  perfectly  frank, 
you  seemed  to  me  to  have  as  good  a  mind  as  your 
brother." 

"  That  is  flattering,"  said  she,  immensely  pleased, 
and  with  reason.  "  Well,  if  you  thought  so  favorably 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  my  intelligence,  how  could  you  believe  me  conven 
tional?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  I.  "  No  one  who  thinks  can  be  con 
ventional." 

"  Conventionality,"  said  she,  "  was  invented  to  save 
some  people  the  trouble  of  thinking  and  to  prevent 
others  from  being  outrageous  through  trying  to  think 
when  they've  nothing  to  think  with." 

"  That  is  worth  remembering  and  repeating," 
laughed  I.  "  Personally,  I'm  deeply  grateful  for  con 
ventionality.  You  see,  I  came  up  from  the  bottom,  and 
I  find  it  satisfactory  to  be  able  to  refer  to  the  rules  in 
all  the  things  I  knew  nothing  about." 

"  My  brother  says  the  most  remarkable  thing  about 
you — and  your  wife —  Do  you  mind  my  telling  you  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  I. 

"  He  says  most  people  who  come  up  are  alternately 
hopeless  barbarians  and  hopelessly  conventional,  but 
that  you  took  the  right  course.  You  learned  to  be 
conventional — learned  the  rules — before  you  ventured 
to  try  to  make  personal  variations  in  them." 

"  I'm  slow  to  risk  variations,"  said  I.  "  Most  of 
the  efforts  in  that  direction  are — eccentric.  And  I  de 
test  eccentricity  as  much  as  I  like  originality." 

"  If  Mr.  Beechman  were  only  a  little  less  conven 
tional  !  "  sighed  she.  "  I'm  afraid  he'd  be  rather — " 
She  hesitated. 

"  Tiresome  ?  "  I  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Tiresome,"  she  assented.  "  But — there  would  be 
the  children.  Do  you  think  he'd  try  to  interfere  with 
me  there?" 

233 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You'll  never  know  that  until  you've  married  him," 
said  I. 

"  It's  a  pity  he  has  an  occupation  that  would  keep 
him  round  the  house  most  of  the  time,"  said  she. 
"  That's  a  trial  to  a  woman.  She's  always  being  inter 
rupted  when  she  wishes  to  be  free." 

"  You  mustn't  expect  too  much,"  said  I.  "I  think 
the  children  will  be  your  children." 

She  did  not  reply  in  words.  But  a  sudden  strength 
ening  of  her  expression  made  me  feel  that  I  was  getting 
a  glimpse  of  her  father. 

We  talked  no  more  of  Beechman  or  of  any  person 
alities  related  to  this  story.  When  the  bridge  party 
broke  up  and  a  supper  was  served  on  deck,  she  and 
Beechman  sat  togther.  And  I  gathered  from  the 
sounds  coming  from  their  direction  that  he  was  making 
progress.  My  spirits  gradually  oozed  away  and  I  sat 
glumly  pretending  to  listen  while  Mrs.  Raphael  talked 
to  me.  Usually  she  interested  me  because  she  talked 
what  she  knew  and  knew  things  worth  while.  But  that 
night  I  heard  scarcely  a  word  she  said.  When  the 
party,  one  by  one,  began  to  go  below,  Mrs.  Kirkwood 
j  oined  me  and  found  an  opportunity  to  say,  aside : 

"  Won't  you  talk  with  Mr.  Beechman — and  tell 
me  your  honest  opinion?  You  know  I  can't  afford  to 
make  another  mistake.  And  I'm  in  earnest." 

I  stood  silent,  smoking  and  staring  out  toward  the 
dim  Connecticut  shore. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  unfair  to  him,"  she  urged. 
66  You're  not  especially  his  friend.  I  can't  ask  anyone 
else,  and  I  believe  in  your  judgment." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

66  If  I  advised  you,  I'd  be  taking  a  heavy  responsi 
bility,"  said  I. 

"  I'm  not  that  kind — you  know  I'm  not,"  replied 
she.  "  I  don't  ask  advice,  to  have  some  one  to  blame  if 
things  go  wrong.  Of  course,  if  there's  a  reason  why 
you  can't  very  well  help  me —  Maybe  you  already 
know  something  against  him? — something  you've  no 
right  to  tell?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  I,  emphatically.  "  And  I  don't 
believe  there  is  anything  against  him."  Then,  on  an 
impulse  of  fairness  and  to  wipe  out  the  suspicion  of 
Beechman  I  had  unwittingly  created,  I  said :  "  Really, 
there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  size  him  up  and  give 
you  my  opinion.  I'll  do  my  best." 

She  thanked  me  with  a  fine  lighting  up  of  the  eyes. 
And  the  warm  friendly  pressure  of  her  hand  lingered 
after  she  had  long  been  below  and  was  no  doubt  asleep. 

What  was  my  reason  for  hesitating?  You  have 
guessed  it,  but  you  think  I  do  not  intend  to  admit. 
You  are  deceived  there.  I  admit  frankly.  I  felt  un 
able  to  advise  her  because  I  found  that  I  was  in  love 
with  her,  myself.  Yes,  I  was  in  love,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life.  The  latest  time  of  falling  in  love  is 
always  the  first.  As  we  become  older  and  more  experi 
enced,  better  acquainted  with  the  world,  with  ourselves, 
with  what  we  want  and  do  not  want — in  a  word,  as  we 
grow,  the  meaning  of  love  grows.  And  each  time  we 
love,  we  see,  as  we  look  back  over  the  previous  times, 
that  what  we  thought  was  love  was  in  fact  simply  edu 
cational. 

285 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

So,  when  I  say  I  had  never  loved  until  I  loved  Mary 
Kirkwood,  I  am  speaking  a  truth  which  is  worth  think 
ing  about.  I  had  reached  the  age,  the  stage  of  physical 
and  mental  development,  at  which  a  man's  capacities 
are  at  their  largest — at  which  I  could  give  love  and 
could  appreciate  love  that  was  given  to  me.  And  I,  who 
could  not  ask  or  hope  love  from  her,  gave  her  all  the  love 
I  had  to  give.  Gave  because  I  could  not  help  giving. 
Who,  seeing  the  best,  can  help  wanting  it? 

But  for  my  promise  to  her  I  should  have  left  the 
yacht  early  the  following  morning.  As  it  was  I  stayed 
on,  with  my  mind  made  up  to  keep  my  word.  Did  I 
stay  because  of  my  promise?  Did  I  stay  because  I 
loved  her?  I  do  not  know.  Who  can  fathom  the  real 
motive  in  such  a  situation  as  that?  I  can  only  say  that 
I  sought  Beechman's  society  and  did  my  best  to  take 
his  measure.  It  had  been  so  long  my  habit  to  judge 
men  without  regard  to  my  personal  feeling  about  them 
that,  perhaps  in  spite  of  myself,  I  saw  this  man  as  he 
was,  not  as  I  should  have  liked  him  to  be.  I  found  that 
I  had  underestimated  him.  I  had  been  prejudiced  by! 
his  taking  himself  too  seriously — a  form  of  vanity  which 
I  happen  particularly  to  detest.  Also  his  sense  of  hu 
mor  was  different  from  mine — a  fact  that  had  misled 
me  into  thinking  he  had  no  sense  of  humor.  I  had 
thought — shall  I  say  hoped? — that  I  would  find  him 
a  man  she  could  respect  but  could  not  love.  I  was 
forced  to  abandon  this  idea.  So  far  as  a  man  can  judge 
another  for  a  woman,  he  could  succeed  with  almost  any 
heart-free  woman.  I  wondered  that  Mary  Kirkwood 
should  be  uncertain  about  him.  I  might  have  drawn 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

comfort  from  her  having  done  so,  had  I  not  known  how 
she  dreaded  making  a  second  mistake. 

That  day  and  the  next,  when  I  was  not  with  him, 
she  was.  I  shan't  attempt  to  tell  my  emotions.  That 
sort  of  thing  seems  absurd  to  all  the  world  but  the  one 
who  is  suffering.  Besides,  the  fact  that  I  was  a  mar 
ried  man  would  alienate  the  sympathies  of  all  respect 
able  readers.  Not  that  I  am  yearning  for  sympathy. 
Those  who  have  read  thus  far  may  have  possibly  gath 
ered  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  live  on  sympathy 
and  wither  and  die  without  it.  The  only  sympathy 
human  beings  seem  able  to  give  one  another,  I  have  dis 
covered,  is  a  species  of  self-complacent  pity ;  and  while 
it  may  not  be  exactly  a  stone,  it  is  certainly  a  most  in 
ferior  quality  of  bread. 

The  third  morning  I  sought  her  out.  She  made 
a  picture  of  strong,  slim  young  womanhood  to  cause 
the  heart — at  least,  my  heart — to  ache,  as  she  leaned 
against  the  rail  in  her  blue-trimmed  white  linen  dress 
showing  her  lovely  throat.  Said  I,  avoiding  her  eyes  : 
"  I'm  off  for  the  shore,  and  I  wish  to  report  before 
leaving." 

"  Ashore !  "  she  cried.  "  Why,  you  were  to  have 
gone  on  to  Bar  Harbor  and  back  again." 

"  Business — always  business." 

"  I'm  disappointed,"  said  she,  and  I  saw  with  a  fur 
tive  glance  that  her  face  had  quite  lost  its  brightness. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  at  least,"  said  I  with  a  successful 

enough  attempt  at  lightness ;  for,  as  I  have  never  been 

the  sort  of  man  in  whom  women  expect  to  find  senti- 

mentalism,  signs  of  embarrassment  or  other  agitation 

16  237 


THE    HUSBAND'S   STORY 

would   be   attributed   to   any   other   source   before   the 
heart. 

"  I've  lost  interest  in  the  trip,"  she  declared. 

I  forced  a  smile.     "  Beechman  isn't  going." 

"  Oh,  that's  different,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  frank 
impatience.  "  You're  the  one  person  I  can  really  talk 
to.  ...  Can't  you  stay?" 

I  did  not  let  my  face  betray  me.  I  waited  before 
speaking  until  I  was  sure  of  my  voice.  "  Impossible," 
I  said,  perhaps  rather  curtly — for,  mind  you,  I  wished 
to  deal  honestly  with  her,  and  was  not  trying  to  hint  my 
love  while  pretending  to  hide  it.  I  know  there  is  a  notion 
that  love  cannot  be  controlled.  But  the  kind  of  love 
that  can't  be  controlled  is  a  selfish,  greedy  appetite  and 
not  love  at  all.  When  the  man  doesn't  control  his  love 
the  woman  may  be  sure  he  is  thinking  of  himself  only, 
of  her  merely  as  a  possible  means  of  pleasure — is  think 
ing  of  her  as  the  hungry  hunter  thinks  of  the  fine  fat 
rabbit.  Said  I: 

"  Now  for  my  report  on  Beechman." 

But  she  would  not  let  me  escape.  "  Why  are  you 
short  with  me?  "  she  asked.  "  Have  I  offended  you?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I.  "  You've  been  everything 
that's  kind  and  friendly." 

"  The  very  idea  of  losing  your  friendship  frightens 
me,"  she  went  on.  "  I've  a  feeling  for  you — a  feeling 
of — of  intimacy  " — she  flushed  rosily — "  that  I  have 
for  no  one  else  in  the  world.  Oh,  I  don't  expect  you  to 
return  it.  No  doubt  I  seem  insignificant  to  you.  Al 
most  anyone  would  want  your  friendship.  You  are 
sure  you  aren't  leaving  because  you  are  bored?  " 

238 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Absolutely  sure.  If  I  could  explain  my  reason  for 
going  you  would  see  that  I  must.  But  I  can't  explain. 
So  you'll  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  find  Beechman  even 
more  of  a  man  than  I  thought." 

She  looked  at  me  apologetically.  "  You'll  think  me 
foolish,  but  since  I've  begun  to  try  to  like  him  better 
I've  been — almost — not  liking  him." 

I  am  sure  I  beamed  with  delight.  For,  there  are 
limits — very  narrow  ones — to  unselfishness  in  the  most 
considerate  love.  And  I  am  not  able  to  pose  as  more 
than  feebly  unselfish.  "  That  isn't  fair  to  him,"  I  said, 
with  more  enthusiasm  in  my  words  than  in  my  tone. 
"  I've  been  judging  him  as  carefully  as  I  know  how,  and 
I  must  in  honesty  say  he  is  a  rare  man.  You'll  not  find 
many  like  him." 

"  Don't  tell  me  he's  worthy,"  she  cried,  "  or  I  shall 
loathe  him." 

"  And  he  cares  for  you,"  I  said. 

"Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"  I  think  he  would  have  if  I  had  encouraged  him. 
...  I  liked  the  way  he  spoke  of  you,  and  " — I  hesi 
tated,  could  not  hold  back  the  words — "  and  I  am  not 
easy  to  please  there."  Those  words  were  certainly  far 
from  confession,  were  the  mildest  form  of  indiscretion. 
Still,  so  determined  was  I  to  be  square,  and  so  guilty 
did  I  feel,  that  they  sounded  like  a  contemptible  attempt 
stealthily  to  make  love  to  her. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  gently.  And  her  suddenly 
swimming  eyes  and  tender  voice  reminded  me  how  alone 
she  was  and  how  bitter  her  experience  had  been  and 
how  she  deserved  happiness. 

239 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  felt  ashamed  of  myself.  "  I  hope  you  will  be 
happy,"  I  said,  perhaps  rather  huskily.  "  Anyone  who 
tried  to  prevent  it  would  deserve  to  be  killed." 

She  looked  at  me  with  such  a  steady,  penetrating 
gaze  that  I  feared  I  had  betrayed  myself.  In  fact,  I 
knew  I  had.  I  glanced  at  my  watch,  put  out  my  hand. 
"  I  hate  to  go,"  I  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  man  to  an 
other.  "  But  I  must."  And  as  we  shook  hands,  I  re 
peated,  "  I  know  you  will  be  happy." 

She  laughed  nervously;  she,  too,  had  become  ill  at 
ease.  "  You  make  me  feel  engaged,"  she  said  with  an 
attempt  at  mockery. 

As  the  launch  touched  the  shore  I  looked  back.  She 
was  leaning  on  the  rail,  Beechman  beside  her.  He  was 
talking,  but  I  felt  sure  she  was  not  listening.  As  I 
looked  she  waved  her  hand.  I  lifted  my  hat  and  hurried 
away.  And  I  learned  the  meaning  of  that  word  deso 
lation. 

Do  not  think,  because  I  have  not  raved,  talked  of 
the  moon  and  stars,  poetized  about  my  soul  states, 
that  therefore  I  did  not  love  her.  The  banquet  of 
life  spread  so  richly  for  me  seemed  a  ghastly  mockery. 
What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world 
and  lose  his  own  soul?  I  had  lost  my  soul.  I  had 
discovered  how  I  might  have  been  happy,  and  at  the 
same  time  I  had  discovered  that  it  could  never  be — 
never.  And  always  before  me  she  stood  in  her  radiant 
youth — intelligent,  so  capable,  splendidly  sincere — the 
woman  I  loved,  the  woman  I  felt  I  could  have  made 
love  me. 

There  was  my  temptation — the  feeling,  the  convic- 
240 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

tion  that  I  could  win  her  love.  She  had  confessed  to  a 
friendship  for  me  different  from  any  she  had  for  any 
one  else  in  the  world.  If  I  were  willing  to  take  advan 
tage  of  her  trust,  of  her  liking,  of  her  longing  for  love 
and  of  my  knowledge  of  it — if  I  were  to  let  her  see 
how  utterly  I  loved  her — I  could  surely  win  her.  There 
were  times  when  I  said  to  myself :  "  You — even  as  you 
are — can  make  her  happier  than  anyone  else  could.  She 
would  prefer  what  you  can  give  her  to  what  she  will  get 
from  Beechman.  Your  love  gives  you  the  right  to 
make  her  happy.  You  are  letting  foolish  conventional 
notions  blind  you  to  what  is  really  right.  If  you  had 
acted  in  business  in  that  fashion,  you  would  not  have 
got  far.  Yet  in  the  supreme  crisis  of  your  life  you  let 
yourself  be  frightened  off  by  a  bogy  of  conventional 
morality." 

Perhaps  I  was  giving  myself  sound  advice  there.  I 
do  not  know.  I  only  know  that  I  put  the  temptation 
behind  me  and  went  to  work.  The  sentimental  readers 
will  not  forgive  me.  So  be  it.  I  am  a  plain  man,  rather 
old-fashioned — prim,  I  believe  it  is  called — in  my  ideas, 
not  at  all  the  ladies'  man.  And  I  did  not  want  to  harm 
her.  I  loved  her. 

I  went  to  work.  The  sort  of  people  who  are  ever 
on  the  lookout  for  some  excuse  for  going  to  pieces, 
and  the  world  is  well  sprinkled  with  them,  eagerly 
seize  on  disappointment  in  love  as  precisely  what  they 
were  seeking.  At  the  risk  of  being  thought  cold  and 
hard,  I  will  say  that  it  is  extremely  fortunate  for  Joan 
that  she  escaped  the  Darby  who  goes  smash  for  disap 
pointed  love  of  her.  If  Joan  had  yielded  to  him,  Darby 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

would  simply  have  been  put  to  the  trouble  of  finding 
another  pretext  for  throwing  up  his  job  and  taking  to 
drink.  I  confess  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  give  up 
and  fall  to  boozing  and  brooding.  I  should  not  have 
dared  do  that;  for,  you  see,  I  was  really  in  love — not 
with  myself,  but  with  Mary  Kirkwood.  I  went  to  work. 
I  filled  my  days  and  my  evenings  with  business  engage 
ments  that  compelled  both  my  time  and  my  thought. 
I  took  on  an  extra  secretary.  I  started  to  build  a 
railway.  I  laid  out  an  addition  to  the  manufacturing 
city  I  had  founded.  I  organized  a  farm  for  teaching 
city  slum  boys  to  be  farmers.  I  engaged  in  several 
entirely  new  mining  and  manufacturing  enterprises. 
The  result  was  that  when  I  went  to  bed,  I  slept;  and 
when  they  awakened  me  in  the  morning  my  brain  was  at 
work  before  my  head  was  well  off  the  pillow.  And  still — 
You  can  distract  your  mind  from  the  aching  tooth,  but 
it  aches  on. 

All  this  time  I  was  receiving  weekly  letters  from 
Edna  and  Margot — long  and  loving  letters.  I  read 
them,  and  you  may  possibly  imagine  I  was  filled  with 
shame  and  remorse.  Not  at  all.  My  wife  and  my 
daughter  had  rather  exaggerated  my  vanity.  Only 
vanity  could  gull  a  husband  and  father  in  my  position 
into  fancying  himself  the  object  of  such  luxuriant 
affection  as  those  letters  professed.  If  you  have  lies 
to  tell,  take  my  advice  and  don't  write  them.  I  can't 
explain  the  mystery,  but  a  lie  which,  spoken  and  heard, 
passes  out  and  passes  in  as  smoothly  as  a  greased  shut 
tle  in  its  greased  groove,  becomes  a  glaring  falsehood 
when  set  down  in  black  and  white.  The  only  effect  of 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

those  letters  upon  me  was  to  make  my  sick  heart  the 
sadder  with  the  realization  of  what  I  had  missed  in 
losing  Mary  Kirkwood. 

And  I  kept  wondering  what  it  was  that  Edna  and 
Margot  were  slathering  me  for. 

In  September  I  got  the  key  to  the  mystery.  The 
necessity  of  floating  some  bonds  took  me  abroad  again. 
I  found  my  family  ensconced  in  beautiful  luxury  in  an 
apartment  in  Paris.  You  drove  out  the  Champs  Ely- 
sees.  Not  far  from  the  President's  palace  you  drove  in 
at  great  doors — not  gates,  but  doors — in  a  plain,  un 
pretentious-looking  house  wall.  You  were  in  a  superb 
garden  of  whose  existence  you  had  no  hint  from  the 
street.  Magnificent  bronze  inner  doors — powdered  and 
velveted  lackeys — a  majestic  stairway  leading  to  lofty 
and  gorgeous  corridors  and  salons.  Really  my  wife, 
with  the  aid  of  those  clever  European  professors  of  the 
aristocratic  art,  had  educated  herself  amazingly.  On 
every  side  there  were  evidences  of  her  good  taste  in 
furniture,  in  tapestries,  in  wall  coverings,  in  pictures. 
It  was  not  the  taste  of  a  home  maker,  but  it  was 
unquestionably  good  taste.  It  was  not  the  sort  of 
taste  I  liked,  but  not  to  admire  it  would  have  been 
to  lack  the  sense  of  harmony  in  line  and  color.  And 
let  me  add  in  justice  to  her,  it  was  her  own  taste. 
There  is  no  mistaking  the  difference  between  the 
luxury  that  is  merely  bought  and  the  luxury  that  is 
created. 

I  submitted  with  what  grace  I  could  muster  to  the 
exuberant  hypocrisies  of  that  greeting.  But  I  got  to 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

business  with  all  speed.  "  In  the  note  I  found  in  Lon 
don  you  said  you  had  a  surprise  for  me,"  I  said  to 
Edna.  "What  is  it?" 

"  How  impatient  you  are,"  laughed  she.  "  Just  like 
a  child." 

Whether  because  the  fashions  of  the  day  happened 
to  be  peculiarly  becoming  or  because  she  had  actually 
improved,  she  now  had  the  loveliness  more  exquisite 
than  I  had  ever  seen  in  woman.  No  doubt  her  piquant 
face  had  charm  for  most  people ;  for  me  it  had  none 
whatever.  I  knew  too  well  what  lay  beneath — or, 
rather,  what  was  not  there,  for  like  most  human  beings 
her  defects  of  character  were  not  so  much  the  presence 
of  the  vices  as  the  lack  of  the  virtues. 

"  I've  been  waiting  for  that  surprise  several  months," 
said  I.  "  Your  letters  and  Margot's  showed  that  some 
shock  was  coming." 

"Shock?  No,  indeed!"  And  she  and  Margot 
laughed  gayly.  "  It  isn't  altogether  a  surprise,"  she 
went  on.  "  Can't  you  guess  ?  " 

I  looked  at  Margot.  "  Ah!  "  I  said.  "  Margot  is 
engaged." 

Margot  ran  across  the  room  and  kissed  me.  "  Oh, 
I'm  50  happy,  papa !  "  she  cried. 

"Is  it  the  duke?"  I  asked. 

She  made  a  wry  face.  "  He  was  horrid !  "  she  said. 
"  I  couldn't  endure  him." 

"  So  you  had  to  fall  back  on  the  marquis  ?  " 

Neither  of  the  women  liked  this  way  of  putting  the 
matter.  It  suggested  that  I  knew  the  painful  truth  of 
the  failure  of  the  ducal  campaign.  But  they  were  not 

244 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  be  put  out  of  humor.     "  You  liked  him  yourself, 
papa,"  said  Margot. 

I  was  abstractedly  thinking  how  I  had  no  sense  of 
her  being  my  daughter  or  of  Edna  being  my  wife. 
You  would  say  that  after  all  we  three  had  been  through 
together,  from  Passaic  up,  it  would  be  a  sheer  impos 
sibility  for  there  ever  to  be  a  sense  of  strangeness  be 
tween  us.  But  there  is  no  limit  to  the  power  of  the 
human  soul  to  cut  itself  off ;  intimacy  is  hard  to  main 
tain,  isolation — alas — is  the  natural  state.  I  looked 
on  them  as  strangers;  I  could  feel  that,  in  spite  of 
their  clever,  resolute  forcing,  in  spite  of  the  hypocrisy 
of  love  for  me  which  each  doubtless  maintained  at  all 
times  with  the  other,  still  they  could  scarcely  hide  their 
feeling  that  I  was  a  strange  man  come  in  from  the 
street. 

"Yes,  I  liked  Crossley,"  said  I.  "I  think  he'll 
make  you  a  good  husband." 

"  He  is  mad  about  her !  "  said  Edna.  "  There  was 
a  while  this  summer  when  he  thought  he  had  lost  her, 
and  he  all  but  went  out  of  his  mind." 

To  look  at  her  was  to  believe  it ;  for,  a  lovelier  girl 
was  never  displayed  in  all  her  physical  perfection  by 
a  more  discriminating  mother. 

"  When  is  the  wedding  to  be?  "  said  I. 

There  was  a  brief,  surcharged  silence — no  more 
than  a  pause.  Then  Edna  said  indifferently,  "  As  soon 
as  the  settlements  are  arranged." 

"  Oh — is  he  settling  something  on  her?  "  said  I, 
with  pretended  innocence.  "  I'm  glad  of  that.  There's 
been  too  much  of  the  other  sort  of  thing." 

245 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Margot  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  charming  laugh. 
"  Poor  Hugh !  "  she  said.  "  He  hasn't  anything  but 
mortgages." 

"  Um — I  see,"  said  I  glumly — and  I  observed  in 
tense  anxiety  behind  the  smiles  in  those  two  pairs  of 
beautiful  eyes.  "  How  much  have  we  got  to  pay  for 
him?  " 

Edna  looked  reproachfully  at  me.  "  Margot,"  said 
she,  "  you'd  better  go  tell  them  to  serve  lunch  in  fifteen 
minutes." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  I  cheerfully.  "  Let  her  stay. 
What's  the  use  of  this  hypocrisy?  She  knows  he  cares 
no  more  about  her  than  she  cares  about  him — that  it's 
simply  a  matter  of  buying  and  selling.  If  she  doesn't 
know  it,  if  she's  letting  her  vanity  bamboozle  her 

"  Godfrey — please !  "  implored  Edna.  "  Don't 
smirch  the  child's  romance.  She  and  Hugh  love 
each  other.  If  she  were  poor,  he'd  marry  her  just  the 
same." 

"  Has  he  offered  to  go  ahead,  regardless  of  settle 
ments  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Of  course  not,  papa,"  flashed  Margot.  "  Things 
aren't  done  that  way  over  here." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are,"  replied  I.  "  Romantic  love 
matches  occur  every  day.  Even  royalty  throws  up  its 
rights,  to  marry  a  chorus  girl.  But  when  there's  a 
fat  American  goose  to  pluck  and  eat,  why,  they  pluck 
and  eat  it.  I'm  the  goose,  my  dear — not  you." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  murmured  Margot. 

"  I  wish  I  didn't,"  said  I.  "  And  I  wish  you  didn't 
have  to  understand.  If  possible  I  want  to  arrange 

246 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

matters  with  him  so  that  he'll  always  treat  you  de 
cently." 

"  But,  Godfrey,"  cried  Edna  in  a  panic,  "  you  can't 
talk  money  to  him." 

"Why  not?"  said  I.  "He's  thinking  money. 
Why  shouldn't  he  talk  it?  " 

"  He  knows  nothing  about  those  things,  papa " 

I  laughed. 

"  You'll  ruin  everything !  "  cried  my  wife.  "  You'll 
make  us  the  laughingstock  of  Europe ! " 

"  We  Americans  of  the  rich  class  are  that  already," 
replied  I. 

Edna  must  have  given  her  daughter  some  secret 
signal,  for  she  abruptly  and  hastily  left  the  room, 
closing  the  door  behind  her.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders, 
settled  back  on  the  exquisitely  upholstered  and  carved 
sofa  on  which  I  had  seated  myself.  Looking  round  I 
said,  "  This  is  a  beautiful  room.  You've  certainly  ar 
ranged  a  fitting  background  for  yourself  and  Margot." 

But  she  was  not  listening.  She  was  watching  her 
fingers  slowly  twist  and  untwist  the  delicate  little  lace 
handkerchief.  At  last  she  said :  "  Godfrey,  I've  never 
asked  a  favor  of  you.  I've  given  my  whole  life  to  ad 
vancing  your  interests — to  making  our  child  a  perfect 
lady — and  to  placing  her  in  a  dazzling  position." 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  You  have  worked  hard — and 
you've  made  your  tricks." 

"  I've  played  my  hand  well — as  you  have  yours," 
said  she,  accepting  my  rather  unrefined  figure  with 
good  grace.  "  I  began  to  make  Margot's  career  before 
she  was  born.  The  first  time  I  saw  her  little  face,  I 

247 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

murmured  to  myself,  '  Little  Duchess.'  Now,  you  un 
derstand  why  I  brought  her  up  so  carefully." 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  looking  at  her  with  new  interest. 
"  That  was  it?  "  I  who  knew  what  a  futile,  purpose 
less,  easily  discouraged  breed  the  human  race  is  could 
not  but  admire  this  woman.  If  her  intelligence  had 
only  been  equal  to  her  willj  what  might  she  not  have 
accomplished ! 

"  I  have  never  lost  sight  of  it  for  a  moment,"  said 
she.  "  In  the  early  days — for  a  time — when  we  were 
seemingly  so  hopelessly  obscure,  and  I  was  too  ignorant 
to  learn  which  way  to  turn — for  a  while  I  was  discour 
aged.  But  I  never  gave  up — never !  And  step  by  step 
I've  trained  her  for  the  grand  position  as  a  leader  of 
European  society  she  was  one  day  to  occupy — for,  I 
knew  that  if  she  led  Europe  she  would  be  leader  at 
home,  too.  Over  there  they're  merely  a  feeble,  crude 
echo  of  Europe." 

"  Socially,"  said  I. 

"  That's  all  we're  talking  about,"  replied  she. 
"  That's  all  there  is  worth  talking  about.  What  else 
have  you  been  piling  up  money  for  ?  .  .  .  What  else  ?  " 

I  could  think  of  no  reply.  I  was  silent.  What  else, 
indeed? 

"  I  kept  her  away  from  other  children,"  Edna  went 
on.  "  After  she  could  talk  I  never  trusted  her  to  nurses 
until  we  could  afford  fashionable  servants.  I  got  her 
the  right  sort  of  governesses — so  that  she  should  speak 
French,  Italian,  and  German,  and  should  have  a  well- 
bred  English  accent  for  her  own  language.  I  even 
trained  her  in  the  children's  stories  she  read — had  her 

248 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

read  only  the  fairy  tales  and  the  other  stories  that 
would  fill  her  mind  with  ideas  of  nobility  and  titles  and 
the  high  things  of  life." 

"  The  high  things  of  life,"  said  I. 

She  made  an  impressive  gesture — she  looked  like 
a  beautiful  young  empress.  "  Let's  not  cant,"  said  she. 
"  Those  are  the  high  things  of  life.  Ask  any  person 
you  meet  in  America — young  or  old,  high  or  low — 
ask  him  which  he'd  rather  be — a  prince,  duke,  marquis, 
or  a  saint,  scientist,  statesman.  What  would  he  an 
swer?  " 

I  laughed.  "  That  he'd  rather  be  a  millionaire," 
said  I. 

"  A  millionaire  with  a  title — with  established  social 
position  at  the  very  top — that  couldn't  be  taken  away. 
That's  the  truth,  Godfrey." 

"  I'll  not  contradict  you,"  said  I. 

"  And,"  she  went  on,  "  I've  brought  up  our  daugh 
ter  so  that  she  could  realize  the  highest  ambition  with 
in  our  reach.  Haven't  I  brought  her  up  well  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  for  the  purpose,"  said  I. 

"  When  we  came  over  here,  I  examined  the  ground 
carefully.  I  was  at  first  inclined  to  one  of  the  big  Con 
tinental  titles.  They  are  much  older,  much  more  high 
sounding  than  the  English  titles — and  so  far  as  birth 
goes  they  mean  something,  while  the  English  titles  mean 
really  nothing  at  all.  The  English  aristocracy  isn't 
an  aristocracy  of  birth." 

"  That's,  no  doubt,  the  reason  why  it  still  has  some 
say  in  affairs,"  said  I. 

"  Its  talk  about  birth  is  almost  entirely  sham,"  pro- 
249 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ceeded  she,  not  interested  in  my  irrelevant  comment. 
"  But  I  found  that  it  was  the  most  substantial  aris 
tocracy,  the  only  one  that  was  respected  everywhere, 
just  as  the  English  money  circulates  everywhere.  And 
it's  the  only  one  that  makes  much  of  an  impression  at 
home.  We  are  so  ignorant  that  we  think  England  is 
all  that  it  pretends  to  be — the  powerful  part  of  Europe. 
Of  course,  it  isn't,  but — no  matter.  I  decided  for  an 
English  title." 

"And  Margot?" 

"  I  have  brought  her  up  to  respect  my  judgment," 
said  Edna. 

"  I  wonder  what  will  become  of  her,"  said  I,  reflect 
ively,  "  when  she  hasn't  you  at  her  elbow  to  tell  her 
what  to  do.  .  .  .  But  why  a  marquis?  Why  not  a 
duke?" 

She  smiled,  blushed  a  little.  "  The  only  duke  we 
could  have  got — and  he  was  a  nice  young  fellow — but  he 
was  in  love  with  an  English  girl  of  wealth — and  he 
wanted  too  much  to  change  to  an  American.  Is  that 
frank  enough  to  suit  you  ?  " 

"  If  you'd  only  keep  to  that  key,"  said  I. 

"  He  wanted  double  the  American  dowry  that  he 
was  willing  to  take  with  an  English  girl." 

66  His  being  in  love  with  another  girl  might  have 
made  it  unpleasant  for  Margot,"  I  suggested. 

"  That  wouldn't  have  amounted  to  anything,"  re 
plied  she.  "  Over  here  the  right  sort  of  people  bring 
up  their  children  as  I  brought  up  Margot — to  give 
their  hearts  where  their  hands  should  go.  They  are 
not  shallow  and  selfish.  They  think  of  the 'family  dig- 

250 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

nity   and   honor  before   they  think   of   their   personal 
feelings." 

"  That's  interesting — and  new — at  least  to  me," 
said  I. 

"  You  have  been  judging  these  things  without  know 
ing,  Godfrey,"  said  she.  "  You  have  attacked  me  for 
narrowness,  when  in  fact  you  were  the  narrow  one." 

"  Yes?    What  next?  "  said  I. 

"  I  found  that  the  Massingfords — that's  the  family 
name  of  the  Marquis  of  Crossley — I  found  they  ranked 
higher  as  a  family  than  any  of  the  ducal  families  ex 
cept  one.  Of  course  I  don't  include  the  royal  dukes." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  I  gravely. 

"  I  might  possibly  have  got  one  of  the  royal  dukes 
• — if  not  in  England,  then  here  on  the  Continent.  But 
I  decided —  You  see,  Godfrey,  I  looked  into  every 
thing." 

"  You  certainly  have  been  thorough,"  said  I.  "  I 
should  have  said  it  was  impossible  in  so  short  a  time." 

"  But  it  wasn't  difficult.  All  the  Americans  over 
here  are  well  informed  about  these  things." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  it,"  said  I.  "  But  why  did 
you  turn  down  the  poor  royal  dukes  ?  " 

"  Because  the  other  women  would  have  made  it 
dreadfully  uncomfortable  for  Margot.  They'd  have 
hated  her  for  taking  precedence  over  them  by  such  a 
long  distance.  Then,  too — the  dowry.  I  was  afraid 
you  couldn't  afford  the  dowry — or  wouldn't  think  the 
title  worth  the  money.  Indeed,  I  didn't  think  so,  my 
self." 

"  A  royal  duke  comes  high  ?  " 
251 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  The  least  dowry  would  be  seventy-five  million 
francs." 

"  Fifteen  million  dollars  !  "  I  exclaimed.    "  Whew !  " 

"  Mrs.  Sinkers  tried  to  get  one  for  her  daughter  for 
ten  millions — all  she  could  scrape  together.  They 
agreed  to  a  morganatic  marriage  for  that,  but  not  a  full 
marriage.  So,  she  and  poor  Martha  gave  it  up. 
Martha's  heart  is  broken.  The  duke  made  love  to  her 
so  wonderfully.  I  can't  imagine  what  Mrs.  Sinkers 
was  about,  to  allow  such  a  thing  before  the  affair  was 
settled.  Poor  Martha  was  so  excited  that  she  would 
have  accepted  the  morganatic  marriage — she  ranking 
merely  as  the  duke's  head  mistress.  But  while  he  was 
willing  to  take  other  mistresses  for  nothing,  and  even  to 
pay  them,  he  wouldn't  take  her  for  less  than  fifty  million 
francs." 

"Poor  Martha!  "said  I. 

"  I  was  too  wise  to  trifle  with  royal  dukes,"  pursued 
Edna,  so  interested  in  her  own  narrative  and  so  eager  to 
show  how  sagacious  she  had  been  that  she  forgot  her 
pose  and  her  doubts  as  to  my  sympathies.  "  I  weighed 
the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  about  a  dozen 
eligible  men.  Only  three  stood  the  test,  and  it  finally 
narrowed  down  to  Crossley.  Margot  was  so  happy 
when  I  told  her.  She  wanted  to  love  him — and  now  she 
is  loving  him." 

A  long  pause  while  Edna  calmed  down  to  earth  from 
her  European  soarings,  and  while  I,  too,  returned  to  the 
normal  from  an  excursion  in  the  opposite  direction. 
"  How  much  does  he  want?  "  said  I.  "  Let's  get  to  bed 
rock." 

252 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

m,  """^^^ 

"  He  loves  her  so  that  he  is  willing,  so  I  hear —  Of 
course,  nothing  has  been  said —  You  will  not  believe 
how  refined  and " 

"  How  much?  "  interrupted  I. 

Edna  winced  at  my  rudeness,  then  again  presented  an 
unruffled  front  of  happy  loving  serenity.  "  Enough  to 
pay  off  the  mortgages  and  to  provide  them  with  a  suit 
able  income." 

"  How  much?  "  I  persisted,  laughing. 

She  looked  tenderly  remonstrant.  "  I  don't  know, 
Godfrey " 


4  You  know  about  how  much.     What's  the  figure 
the  price  of  this  marked  down  marquis  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  the  whole  thing  would  not  cost  more 
than  three  or  four  million  dollars." 

"  Three — or  four."  I  laughed  aloud.  "  Not  much 
difference  there.  Now  which  is  it — three  or  four  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  nearer  four.  Margot  must  have  a  good 
income." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I. 

"  The  whole  object  would  be  defeated  if  she  hadn't 
the  means " 

"  The  money,"  I  suggested.  "  Why  use  these 
evasive  words?  We're  talking  a  plain  subject.  Let's 
use  its  language." 

"  The  money,  then,"  acquiesced  she,  resolutely  good- 
humored.  "  If  she  hadn't  the  money  to  make  a  proper 
appearance." 

"  Naturally,  to  lead  in  society  you  must  lead  in 
spending  money.  .  .  .  Well — it  can't  be  done." 

She  paled,  half  started  from  her  chair,  sank  back 
17  253 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

again.  There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  she  said, 
"  You  have  never  been  cruel,  Godfrey.  You  won't  be 
cruel  now.  You  won't  destroy  my  life  work.  You 
won't  shatter  Margot's  happiness." 

"  The  whole  thing  is — is  nauseating  to  me,"  said  I. 

Her  short,  pretty  upper  lip  quivered.  Her  eyes 
filled.  "  If  you  didn't  approve,  dear,  why  didn't  you 
stop  me  long  ago?  Why  did  you  let  me  go  on  until 
there  was  no  turning  back  ?  " 

I  was  silent.     There  seemed  to  be  no  answer  to  that. 

"  Did  you  do  it  purposely,  Godfrey?  "  said  she,  with 
melancholy  eyes  upon  me.  "  Did  you  lure  us  on,  so 
that  you  could  crush  us  at  one  stroke  ?  " 

I  was  silent. 

"  I  can't  believe  that  of  you.  I  won't  believe  it  until 
you  compel  me  to." 

"  As  I  understand  it,"  said  I,  "  you  propose  that  I 
hand  over  to  this  young  man  four  million " 

"  Only  about  half  of  it,  Godfrey,"  cried  she,  reviv 
ing.  "  The  other  half  would  be  Margot's — for  her  own 
income." 

"  Then  that  I  hand  over  to  this  amiable,  insignificant 
young  foreigner  two  million  dollars  to  induce  him  to 
consent  to  the  degradation  of  marrying  my  daughter — 
to  have  him  going  about,  saying  in  effect,  *  It  is  true, 
she  is  only  one  of  those  low  Americans,  but  don't  forget 
that  I  got  two  million  dollars  for  stooping.'  Is  that 
the  proposition  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  isn't !  "  cried  she.  "  He  doesn't  feel 
that  he  is  degrading  himself.  He  feels  proud  of  winning 
her — the  most  beautiful,  the  best  mannered  girl  in  Lon- 

254 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

don.  But  it'd  be  simply  impossible  for  them  to  marry 
without  the  money.  /  shouldn't  want  it.  They  would 
be  wretched.  You  talk  like  a  sentimental  schoolboy, 
Godfrey.  How  could  two  refined,  sensitive  people  such 
as  Hugh  and  Margot,  used  to  every  luxury,  used  to 
being  foremost  in  society — how  could  they  be  happy 
without  the  means " 

"  The  money,"  I  corrected  blandly. 

"  Without  the  money  needed  to  maintain  their  posi 
tion  as  marquis  and  marchioness  of  Crossley  ?  " 

I  nodded  assent. 

"  He  has  only  about  five  thousand — twenty-five 
thousand  of  our  money — a  year.  That  is  ridiculous  for 
a  marquis.  He  has  to  keep  all  his  houses  closed  and 
run  as  economically  as  possible.  Even  then  they  cost 
him  nearly  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  a  year  to  main 
tain." 

"  And  he  has  only  twenty-five  thousand !  " 

"  I  meant  twenty-five  thousand  over  and  above.  He 
has  that  to  live  on.  And,  poor  fellow,  he  is  dropping 
every  year  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt.  So  much  is 
expected  of  a  marquis." 

"  But  not  honesty,  apparently,"  said  I. 

"  You  mustn't  judge  these  people  by  our  commercial 
standards,"  she  gently  rebuked. 

"  I  forgot,"  said  I  penitently. 

"  And  the  poor  fellow  does  love  Margot  so !  " 

"  Um,"  said  I.  "  Have  you  ever  happened  to  hear 
of  a  Miss  Townley — Jupey  Townley?  " 

A  flash  of  annoyance  flitted  over  Edna's  lovely,  deli 
cate  countenance. 

255 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  see  you  have,"  said  I.  "  You  were,  indeed,  thor 
ough.  Permit  me  to  compliment  you,  my  dear." 

"  I  am  glad  Hugh  hasn't  been  a  saint." 

"  Isn't,"  said  I. 

"  That's  all  in  the  past,"  declared  she. 

"  I  saw  them  in  a  box  at  a  London  music  hall  night 
before  last,"  said  I.  "  They  were—  They  had  been 
drinking." 

But  Edna  was  not  daunted.  "  You  are  a  man  of 
the  world,  Godfrey.  Don't  pretend  to  be  narrow." 

"  When  a  man  loves  a  woman " 

"  Love  is  very  different  from  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
you  know  it." 

"  Has  Margot  heard " 

"  Godfrey !  "  cried  Edna,  in  horror.  "  Do  you 
think  I  would  permit  my  daughter — our  daughter — to 
know  such  things !  Why,  her  mind  is  as  pure " 

I  could  not  restrain  a  gesture  of  disgust.  "  You 
women !  "  I  cried,  rising.  "  Pure !  Pure — God  in 
Heaven,  pure ! " 

Her  look  of  dazed  astonishment,  obviously  sincere, 
helped  me  to  get  back  my  composure.  I  sat  down  again. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  inter 
rupt." 

"  Even  if  you  men  have  no  purity  yourselves,  you 
ought  to  believe  in  it  in  women,"  said  she,  with  an  in 
jured  air. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  I  agreed  heartily.  "  I  congratulate 
you  on  being  able  to  make  such  generous  allowances  for 
masculine  frailty." 

"  You  are  sarcastic,"  said  she  coldly. 
256 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  No  matter.  It  certainly  does  not  damage  the 
title — perhaps  adds  to  its  luster." 

"  It's  hereditary  in  their  family  to  be  wild  up  to  mar 
riage,  and  then  to  settle  down  and  serve  the  state  in 
some  distinguished  position." 

"  Oh — in  that  case — "  said  I  ironically. 

"  Margot  and  her  husband  and  her  children  will  have 
your  money  some  day,"  pursued  she.  "  Why  not  give 
it  to  her  now,  when  it  will  get  her  happiness  ?  " 

That  impressed  me.  "  I  have  not  said  I  would  not 
consent  to  this  marriage,"  I  reminded  her.  "  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  I'm  in  favor  of  it.  I  can  see  no  future  for 
Margot  in  America " 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Edna  eagerly.  "  She  simply 
couldn't  marry  over  there.  She'd  be  wretched." 

"  But  I  feel  it  is  my  duty —  Rather  late  in  the  day 
for  me  to  talk  about  duty  toward  my  daughter,  after 
neglecting  it  all  these  years.  Still,  I  ought  to  see  to  it 
that  she  has  the  best  possible  chance  for  a  smooth  mar 
ried  life.  It's  only  common  prudence  to  take  all  pre 
cautions — isn't  it  ?  " 

"  All  sensible  precautions,"  said  she. 

"  You  know  how  many  of  these  foreign  *  alliances,' 
as  they're  called,  have  turned  out  badly." 

"  They  get  a  good  many  divorces  in  the  states,"  she 
suggested  smilingly.  "  One  to  every  twelve  marriages, 
I  read  the  other  day." 

I  admitted  that  she  had  made  an  effective  retort. 
"  The  truth  is,"  said  I,  "  American  women  aren't 
brought  up  for  domestic  life.  So,  whether  they  marry 
at  home  or  abroad  they  have  trouble." 

257 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

66  Men  resent  their  independence,"  said  Edna. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  I.  Of  what  use  to  point  out 
to  her  that  the  trouble  lay  in  the  women's  demanding  to 
be  supported  and  refusing  to  do  anything  to  earn  their 
support  ?  All  I  said  was :  "  I  suspect  a  good  many  hus 
bands  think  the  marriage  contract  too  one-sided — binding 
only  them  and  not  their  wives.  But  the  trouble  with  the 
6  alliances  '  can't  be  that." 

"  It's  because  Europeans  look  on  the  wife  as  a  kind 
of  head  servant.  But  Hugh  isn't  that  sort." 

"  We'll  know  more  as  to  that  when  we  hear  what 
Margot  says  after  she's  been  married  a  few  years,"  said 
I.  "  The  point  to  settle  now  is  how  to  bind  him  to  good 
behavior  so  far  as  it  can  be  done  in  advance.  He  may 
be  deeply  in  love  with  Margot.  He  may  stay  in  love 
with  her.  But  in  the  circumstances  it's  wise  to  assume 
that  he  wants  only  her  money  and  that,  if  he  gets  it, 
he'll  treat  her  badly." 

My  wife's  silence  was  encouraging. 

"  If  he  had  plenty  of  money  he  might  even  goad  her 
into  releasing  him — and  might  marry  again." 

My  wife  was  obviously  impressed.  "  Yes — that  has 
been  done,"  said  she.  "  Of  course,  if  Margot  should 
have  an  heir  right  away.  But " 

She  looked  at  me  as  if  trying  to  decide  whether  she 
could  trust  me  with  a  confidence.  She  evidently  decided 
in  my  favor,  for  she  went  on  to  say : 

"  On  the  other  hand — Margot  is  a  peculiar  girl. 
No — many  women  have  the  same  peculiarity.  They 
can't  be  trusted  with  power  over  their  husbands.  If 
she  had  all  the  money  in  her  own  name  and  he  were 

£58 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

dependent  on  her —  Godfrey,  I'm  sure  there'd  be 
trouble." 

Once  more  she  was  astonishing  me  with  her  clear 
judgment  in  matters  as  to  which  I  should  have  thought 
her  hopelessly  prejudiced.  "  But  I  can  be  trusted,"  said 
I.  "  The  plan  I  had  in  mind  was  to  take  over  the  mort 
gages  and  guarantee  a  sufficient  income." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  He  won't  consent,"  said  she. 
"  His  solicitors  will  insist  on  better  terms  than  that." 

"  Now  you  see  why  I  want  to  talk  to  him  directly. 
I  don't  purpose  to  be  hampered  by  that  old  trick  of  the 
principal  hidden  behind  a  go-between." 

"  There's  no  other  way,"  said  Edna.  "  They're  too 
clever  to  yield  that." 

"  He  needs  money  badly." 

"  But  he  won't  marry  unless  he's  actually  to  get  it," 
replied  she.  "  Almost  every  American  who  has  married 
a  daughter  over  here  has  tried  to  make  a  business  bar 
gain — at  least,  a  bargain  not  altogether  one-sided.  Not 
one  of  them  has  succeeded.  These  Europeans  have  been 
handling  the  dowry  and  settlement  question  too  many 
centuries." 

"  I  see,"  said  I  affably.  "  If  we  want  what  they've 
got,  we  have  to  take  it  on  their  terms." 

It  was  most  satisfactory,  talking  with  her  now  that 
she  consented  to  speak  and  listen  to  good  sense.  I  was 
at  once  in  a  more  amiable  frame  of  mind,  although  I 
knew  she  had  descended  from  her  high  horse  only  be 
cause  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  it  was  the  one  way 
to  get  me  to  do  as  she  wished. 

"  I  will  hide  behind  a  go-between  myself,"  said  I. 
259 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Any  English  lawyer  would  simply  play  into  the 
hands  of  the  other  side.  At  least,  so  Hilda  was  telling 
me." 

"  Is  she  happy?  " 

"  Very." 

"  When's  her  husband  coming  back  ?  " 

"  Not  for  a  year  or  so,  I  believe.  Lord  Blankenship 
cares  more  for  big  game  and  for  exploring  than  for 
anything  else." 

"  An  ideal  marriage,"  said  I.  "  She  brought  him 
the  money  he  wanted.  He  brought  her  the  title  she 
wanted.  And  they  don't  annoy  each  other.  He  devotes 
himself  to  sport,  she  to  society.  These  aristocratic  peo 
ple,  with  their  simple,  vulgar  wants  that  are  so  easily 
gratified — how  they  are  to  be  envied !  " 

Edna  was  observing  me  furtively,  uneasily.  I  pre 
tended  not  to  notice.  I  went  on :  "  Now,  if  they  wanted 
the  difficult  things — things  like  love  and  companionship 
and  congeniality — they  might  be  wretched.  When  a 
child  cries  for  a  stick  of  candy  or  a  tinsel-covered  rattle 
— for  money  or  social  position — why,  it's  easily  paci 
fied.  But  if  it  cries  for  the  moon  and  the  stars — " 
I  laughed  softly,  enjoying  her  wonder  as  much  as  my 
own  fancies. 

After  a  while  she  said,  with  some  constraint :  "  You 
see  a  great  deal  of  Armitage?  " 

"  We  console  each  other,"  said  I,  with  mild  raillery. 

"  Have  you  been  going  out  much  ?  " 

"  I'm  very  busy." 

"  In  one  of  your  letters- —  Those  rare  little  notes  of 
yours!  You  are  cruelly  neglectful,  Godfrey —  In  one 

260 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  them  you  spoke  of  a  week  end  or  so  on  Armitage's 
yacht.    You  and  he  don't  go  off  alone?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Some  literary  and  artistic  people  usually 
are  aboard." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  cared  for  that  sort." 

"  They're  interesting  enough." 

"  I  suppose  they're  friends  of  Mrs.  Kirkwood's," 
pursued  Edna.  "  She's  like  her  brother — affects  to 
despise  fashionable  society.  Their  pretenses  always 
amused  me." 

"  They  are  sincere  people,"  said  I.  "  They  don't 
pretend.  That's  why  I  like  them." 

"  I  notice  that  Armitage  belongs  to  every  fashion 
able  club  in  New  York — and  to  some  over  here,"  said 
Edna  with  a  smile  that  was  as  shrewd  as  her  observation. 
"  Also,  that  he  manages  to  find  time  to  appear  at  the 
most  exclusive  parties  during  the  season." 

I  had  observed  this  same  peculiarity.  While  I  re 
fused  to  draw  from  it  the  inference  she  drew — and  was 
undeniably  justified  in  drawing — I  had  been  tempted  to 
do  so.  It  irritated  me  to  see  her  finger  upon  the  weak 
spot  in  Armitage's  profession  of  freedom  from  snobbish 
ness. 

"  And  Mary  Kirkwood,"  pursued  Edna,  "  she's  the 
same  sort  of  fakir.  Only,  being  a  woman,  she  does  it 
more  deceptively  than  he." 

"  She  goes  nowhere,"  said  I. 

"  But  she  revels  in  the  fact  that  she  could  go  anjh 
where.  So,  she  fooled  you — did  she?"  Edna  laughed 
merrily  at  my  ill-concealed  discomfiture  "  But  then  you 
know  so  little  about  women." 

261 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  confess  I've  never  seen  in  her  the  least  sign  of 
snobbishness  or  of  interest  in  fashionable  foolishness," 
said  I,  with  what  I  flatter  myself  was  a  fair  attempt  at 
the  impartial  air. 

"  That  in  itself  ought  to  have  opened  your  eyes," 
said  Edna.  "  Whenever  you  see  anyone,  dear,  with  no 
sign  of  a  weakness  that  everybody  in  the  world  has,  you 
may  be  sure  you  are  seeing  a  fraud." 

"  Because  you  have  a  weakness,  dear,"  said  I — as 
pleasant  and  as  acid  as  she,  "  you  must  not  imagine  it 
is  universal." 

"  But  you  have  that  weakness,  too." 

"Really?" 

"  Did  you  or  did  you  not  join  the  fashionable  clubs 
Armitage  put  you  up  at  ?  " 

I  had  to  laugh  at  myself. 

"  Are  you  or  are  you  not  proud  of  the  fact  that  your 
best  friend,  Armitage,  is  a  fashionable  person?  Would 
you  be  as  proud  of  him  if  he  were  only  welcome  in  mid 
dle-class  houses  ?  " 

"  I'm  ashamed  to  say  there's  something  in  that,"  said 
I.  "  Not  much,  but  something." 

"  Yet  you  believed  Mary  Kirkwood ! "  ended  Edna. 

"  I  thought  little  about  it,"  said  I.  "  And  I  still 
believe  that  she  is  sincere — that  she  has  no  snobbishness 
in  her." 

"  You  like  her?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  know  her — yes."  My  answer  was  an 
attempt  to  meet  and  parry  a  suspicion  I  felt  in  Edna's 
mind.  And  it  was  fairly  successful ;  fairly — for  no  one 
ever  yet  completely  dislodged  a  suspicion.  We  cannot 

262 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

see  into  each  other's  minds.  We  know,  from  what  is 
going  on  in  our  own  minds,  that  the  human  mind  is  ca 
pable  of  any  vagary.  Once  we  have  applied  this  general 
principle  to  a  specific  person,  once  we  have  become  defi 
nitely  aware  that  there  are  in  that  person's  mind  things 
of  which  we  have  no  knowledge — from  that  time  forth 
suspicion  of  them  is  in  us,  and  is  ready  to  grow,  to 
flourish. 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  shifting  to  the  subject  of  the 
marriage.  **  I'll  cable  for  my  lawyer,"  said  I.  "  If 
anyone  can  beat  this  game,  Fred  Norman  can." 

"  Yes — send  for  him,"  said  Edna.  "  He  is  canny 
— and  a  man  of  our  world." 

"  I'm  going  back  to  London  to-night — "  I 
went  on. 

"  To-night ! "  she  exclaimed.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  "  Godfrey — is  this  treating  us  right?  " 

I  looked  at  her  intently.  "  Don't  fake  with  me," 
said  I  quietly.  "  It  isn't  necessary." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  she. 

66 1  mean,  I  understand  perfectly  that  you  care  noth 
ing  about  me,  except  as  the  source  of  the  money  you 
need  in  amusing  yourself.  As  you  see  in  my  manner, 
I  am  not  wildly  agitated  by  that  fact.  So  far  as  I'm 
concerned,  there's  no  reason  why  we  should  make  each 
other  uncomfortable." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Godfrey  ?  "  she  said, 
with  large  widening  eyes  gazing  at  me.  "  You  have 
changed  entirely." 

"  As  you  have,"  said  I,  admiring  her  shrewdness, 
and  afraid  of  it.  "  You've  been  educating.  So  have  I. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Mine  has  been  slower  than  yours  and  along  different 
lines.    But  it,  too,  has  been  thorough." 

She  was  not  satisfied,  though  I'm  confident  my  tone 
and  manner  betrayed  nothing.  Said  she :  "  Some  bad 
woman  has  been  poisoning  you  against  Margot  and 
me." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  I,  too  wary  to  be  drawn  into 
that  discussion.  I  realized  I  had  said  entirely  too  much. 
Relying  upon  her  intense  vanity,  her  profound  belief 
in  her  power  over  me,  I  had  gone  too  far.  "  My  busi 
ness  takes  me  to  London  to-night.  I'll  probably  be 
there  until  Norman  arrives.  Then  we'll  come  over." 

"  Don't  you  want  us  in  London  with  you  ?  "  said 
Edna. 

"  You  are  comfortably  settled  here,"  replied  I. 
"Why  disturb  yourselves?" 

She  knew  how  to  read  me.  She  saw  I  was  not  in 
a  dangerous  mood,  as  she  had  begun  to  fear.  She  said : 
"  We  did  intend  to  stay  in  Paris  a  month  or  six  weeks. 
We  have  a  charming  circle  of  friends  among  the  old 
families  here.  I  wish  you'd  stop  on,  Godfrey.  The 
people  are  attractive,  and  the  social  life  is  most  inter 
esting." 

"  Not  to  me,"  said  I.  "  You  forget  I'm  a  Hooligan. 
Besides,  you  don't  need  me.  There's  your  advantage 
through  being  young  and  lovely  and  rich.  You  can 
get  plenty  of  men  to  escort  you  about.  It's  only  the 
old  and  ugly  married  woman  who  really  need  their 
husbands.  Well — I'll  be  ready  when  you  are  forced  to 
fall  back  on  me.  Nothing  like  having  in  reserve  a  faith 
ful  Dobbin." 

264 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

She  looked  hurt.  "  How  can  you  joke  about  sacred 
things,"  she  reproached. 

I  laughed  her  seriousness  aside.  "  Yes,  I'll  be  wait 
ing,  ready  to  be  your  companion,  the  confidant  of  your 
rheumatism  and  gout,  when  all  the  others  have  fled. 
Meanwhile,  my  dear,  I'll  have  my  frisk." 

"  Godfrey !  " 

It  amused  me  to  see  how  bitter  to  her  was  the  taste 
of  the  medicine  she  had  been  forcing  upon  me  so  self- 
complacently.  It  amused  me  to  watch  the  confusion 
into  which  these  new  and  unsuspected  aspects  of  myself 
was  throwing  her. 

Said  I :  "  I'm  glad  you're  as  generous  toward  me  as 
I've  been  toward  you.  That's  why  we've  avoided  the 
Armitage  sort  of  smash-up." 

When  I  left  Paris  that  night  I'll  engage  she  was 
thinking  about  me  as  she  had  never  thought  in  her 
whole  self-centered,  American-female  life. 


VIII 


MY  cable  to  Norman  was  answered  the  next  day  but 
one  by  a  note  from  him,  stopping  in  the  same  hotel. 
I  shall  not  detail  the  negotiations  that  followed — the 
long  and  stormy  scenes  between  him  and  Dawkins,  so 
licitor  to  the  Marquis  of  Crossley.  It  is  sufficient  to 
say  that  Norman  had  the  novel  sensation  of  being 
beaten  on  every  point.  Not  outwitted,  for  he  had  wit 
enough  and  to  spare  for  any  contest  of  cunning;  but 
beaten  by  the  centuries-old  precedents  and  customs  and 
requirements  in  matters  of  dower  and  settlement.  The 
mercenary  marriage  is  an  ancient  habit  of  the  human 
race;  in  fact,  the  scientists  have  proved  that  it  began 
with  marriage  itself,  that  there  was  no  marriage  in  the 
civilized  sense  until  there  was  property  to  marry  for. 
Perhaps  the  mercenary  marriage  is  not  so  recent  in 
America  as  our  idyllists  declare.  Do  we  not  read  that 
the  father  of  his  country  married  solely  for  money  an 
almost  feeble-minded  woman  whom  everybody  knew  he 
did  not  love  ?  And,  inasmuch  as  marriage  is  first  of  all 
a  business — the  business  of  providing  for  the  material 
needs  and  wants  of  two  and  their  children — may  it  not 
barely  be  possible  that  the  unqualifiedly  sentimental  view 
of  marriage  can  be — perhaps  has  been — overdone?  In 
America,  where  the  marriage  for  sentiment  prevails  to 
an  extent  unknown  anywhere  else  in  the  world — is  not 

266 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  institution  of  marriage  there  in  its   most  uneasy 
state  ?    And  may  not  that  be  the  reason  ? 

What  a  world  of  twaddle  it  is !  If  men  and  women 
could  only  learn  to  build  their  ideals  on  the  firm  founda 
tion — the  only  firm  foundation — of  the  practical  in 
stead  of  upon  the  quicksand  of  lies  and  pretenses,  ' 
wouldn't  the  tower  climb  less  shakily,  if  more  slowly, 
toward  the  stars? 

You  may  be  sure  there  was  nothing  of  the  stars  in 
those  talks  between  Norman  and  Dawkins — or  in  my 
talks  with  Norman — or  in  Crossley's  talks  with  Daw- 
kins.  Crossley  had  had  me  looked  up — had  discovered 
as  much  about  my  finances  as  it  is  possible  to  discover 
about  the  private  business  of  an  American.  He  had 
got  the  usual  exaggerated  estimate  of  my  wealth,  and 
he  was  resolved  that  he  would  not  be  cheated  of  a  single 
dollar  he  might  wring  from  me.  From  my  standpoint 
it  was  obvious  that  he  and  Margot  must  have  plenty  of 
money  or  they  could  not  be  happy.  All  I  desired  was 
to  prevent  him  from  feeling  financially  free — and  there 
fore  under  the  aristocratic  code,  morally  free — to  show  ' 
and  to  act,  after  marriage,  the  contempt  I  knew  he 
felt  for  all  things  and  persons  American — except  the 
dollars,  which  could  be  exchanged  into  sovereigns.  I 
fought  hard,  but  he  stood  fast.  Either  Margot  must 
lose  him  or  I  must  give  him  about  what  he  asked — a 
fortune  in  his  own  right  for  him.  If  I  choose  I  could 
dower  her ;  but  as  to  dowering  him  he  would  not  permit 
the  question  of  alternative  to  be  raised. 

"  All  right,"  said  I  at  last  to  Norman.    "  Give  them 
their  minimum." 

267 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

He  was  astounded,  was  furious — and  as  he  is  not 
the  ordinary  lick-spittle  lawyer  but  a  man  of  arrogant 
independence,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  let  me  see  that  his 
anger — and  scorn — were  for  myself.  "  Do  you  mean 
that?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  I  carelessly — as  if  I  were  now  in 
different  about  the  whole  business.  "  My  girl  wants  his 
title.  And  why  let  a  question  of  money  come  between 
iier  and  happiness  ?  " 

"  I  can't  refrain  from  saying,  Loring,  that  I'd  not 
liave  believed  this  of  you." 

k  "  She's  not  fit  to  live  in  America,"  said  I.  "  Her 
mother  hasn't  educated  her  for  it.  American  mothers 
don't  educate  their  daughters  nowadays  to  be  wives  of 
American  men.  Honestly,  do  you  know  an  American 
man  able  to  do  for  himself  who  would  be  foolish  enough 
to  marry  that  sort  of  girl?  " 

His  silence  was  assent. 

"  You  see.  I've  got  to  buy  her  a  husband — that  is, 
a  title — over  here.  This  offering  seems  as  good  as  there 
is  in  the  market — at  the  price.  So — why  not?  " 

"  That's  one  view  of  it,"  said  he  coldly. 

I  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Come  now — be 
sensible,"  said  I.  "  What  else  can  I  do?  " 

"  It  would  be  an  impertinence  for  me  to  say,"  re 
plied  he. 

"  I  can  guess,"  said  I.  "  You  needn't  trouble 
yourself  to  say  it.  You  evidently  don't  know  the  cir 
cumstances.  And  I  may  add  that  so  long  as  I've  got 
to  buy  Margot  a  title  I  might  as  well  buy  her  a  good 


268 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

He  eyed  me  sharply.  But  I  did  not  take  him  into 
my  confidence — nor  shall  I  confide  in  you  at  present, 
gentle  reader.  I  did  not  even  let  him  see  that  I  was 
holding  back  anything.  I  went  on  with  good-humored 
raillery : 

"  I'm  doing  better  than  Hanley  or  Vanderveld  or 
Pattison  or  any  of  the  others  who've  dealt  in  these 
markets.  For  a  marquis  Crossley  is  selling  cheap. 
He's  far  from  penniless,  you  know.  It's  simply  that 
he  wants  more  money.  Why,  really,  old  man,  it's  what's 
called  a  love  match.  They  always  call  it  a  love  match 
when  the  nobleman  isn't  absolutely  on  his  uppers." 

"  You  are  certainly  a  philosopher,  Loring,"  said 
Norman,  anxious,  I  saw,  to  finish  and  drop  the  affair. 

"  And  I  became  one  in  the  usual  way — necessity," 
said  I.  "  I'm  as  eager  to  have  this  thing  dispatched 
as  you  are.  I  want  to  get  out  to  sea,  where  perhaps 
the  stench  of  aristocracy  will  blow  out  of  my  nostrils, 
and  stay  out  of  them  till  I  reach  the  other  shore.  Then 
I'll  get  it  again.  It  blows  down  the  bay  to  meet  the 
incoming  ships." 

"  Yes,  we're  pretty  bad,"  admitted  Norman.  "  Not 
so  bad  as  we  used  to  be,  but  pretty  bad."  He  laughed. 
"  They  accuse  us  of  loving  money.  Why,  we  are  mere 
beginners  at  it.  We  haven't  learned  how  to  idle  or  how 
to  spend  money  except  in  crude,  tiresome  ways.  And  to 
love  money  deeply  you  must  know  how  to  idle  and  how 
to  spend.  Money's  the  passion  with  these  people. 
How  they  do  need  it !  " 

Neither  shall  I  linger  over  the  details  of  the  en 
gagement  and  the  wedding.  For  all  that  was  important 
18  269 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

about  either  I  refer  you  to  the  newspapers  of  London 
and  New  York.  They  gave  everything  that  makes  a 
snob's  eyes  glisten  and  a  snob's  mouth  water.  My  wife 
has  somewhere — she  knows  exactly  where — a  scrapbook, 
and  my  daughter  has  another  of  the  same  kind.  Those 
scrapbooks  are  strongly  bound  and  the  pages  are  of 
the  heaviest  time-  and  wear-resisting  paper.  In  them 
are  pasted  columns  on  columns  of  lists  of  titles,  of 
descriptions  of  jewels  and  dresses,  of  enumerations  of 
wedding  gifts.  Margot  received  things  costing  small 
fortunes  from  people  she  barely  knew  well  enough  to 
invite.  They  gave  in  the  hope — the  good  hope — of 
gaining  the  valuable  favor  of  the  Marchioness  of  Cross- 
ley,  a  great  lady  by  reason  of  her  title,  a  greater  lady 
by  reason  of  the  ancientness  of  the  Massingford  family, 
and  at  the  top  and  summit  of  greatness  by  reason  of 
her  wealth. 

That  last  item,  by  the  way,  was  vastly  overestimated. 
Everyone  assumed  that  Crossley  had  sold  much  more 
dearly.  No  one  but  those  intimately  concerned  dreamed 
what  a  bargain  I  had  got. 

You  may  be  picturing  a  sordid  affair,  redolent  of 
the  stenches  of  commercialism.  If  you  are,  gentle 
reader,  you  are  showing  yourself  unworthy  of  your  own 
soulfulness,  unworthy  of  the  elegant  society  into  which 
I  have  introduced  you.  I  have  been  giving  simply  the 
plain  facts — a  mere  skeleton  upon  which  you,  versed 
in  society  columns  and  society  novels,  and  skilled  in  the 
art  of  hiding  ugly  truths  under  pretty  lies,  may  readily 
drape  the  flesh  and  the  garments  of  sentimentality  and 
snobbishness.  You  will  then  have  the  truth  as  it  ap- 

270 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

peared  to  the  world — a  handsome,  manly  groom,  every 
inch  of  him  the  patrician ;  a  wondrous  lovely,  innocent, 
pure  young  bride,  looking  the  worthy  mate  of  the  great 
noble  she  had  won  with  her  beauty  and  her  sweetness ; 
a  background  of  magnificent  houses  and  equipages,  of 
grand  society  people,  of  lackeys  in  livery  without  num 
ber;  an  atmosphere  of  luxury,  refinement,  perfumed 
with  the  fairest  flowers  and  the  most  delicate  artificial 
scents.  You  are  seeing  also  the  high  and  noble  motives 
of  all  concerned — the  joy  of  parents  in  a  daughter 
sentimentally  wooed  and  won  to  happiness ;  the  generous 
and  kindly  feelings  of  all  the  friends;  the  lavish  and 
affectionate  overflowing  of  costly,  gifts;  above  all,  the 
ecstatic  young  couple  wrapped  up  in  their  love  for 
each  other.  Flesh  up  and  beautify  the  skeleton  to  your 
taste,  gentle  reader.  You  will  not  go  amiss. 

I  must  linger  a  moment  on  the  happiness  of  my 
daughter.  It  was  too  spiritual  to  be  of  this  earth.  As 
soon  as  the  miserable,  unimportant  money  matters  were 
settled,  and  her  mother  gave  her  full  leave  to  love,  she 
threw  herself  into  it  with  all  the  ardor  of  the  heroine 
of  a  novel.  She  had  two  diamond  hearts  made — at  the 
most  fashionable  jewelers  in  Paris,  you  may  be  sure. 
Upon  the  inside  of  the  one  she  kept  she  had  engraved, 
under  his  picture,  "  From  Hugh  to  Margot."  In  the 
one  she  gave  him  there  surrounded  her  picture  in  dia 
mond  inlay,  "  To  Hugh  from  his  dear  love  Margot." 

Each  was  to  wear  the  heart  round  the  neck  until 
death.  Again  and  again  I  caught  her  dreaming  over 
hers,  sometimes  with  tears  in  her  limpid  eyes.  Again 
and  again  I  caught  her  scribbling,  "  Margot,  Marchion- 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ess  of  Crossley,  Viscountess  Brear,  Countess  of  Felday 
and  Noth,  Baroness  de  Selve,"  and  so  on  through  a 
list  of  titles  which  gentle  reader  will  find  in  "  Burke's  " 
and  the  "  Almanach  de  Gotha." 

And  she  had  a  reverent  way  of  looking  at  him  and 
a  tender  way  of  touching  him.  Her  mother,  you  will 
believe,  spared  neither  expense  nor  pains  in  getting 
together  the  trousseau.  But  Margot  was  not  satisfied. 
"  Not  nearly  fine  enough  for  his  bride,"  she  would  say. 
"  I'm  so  afraid  he'll  be  disappointed."  Then  the  tears 
would  spring.  "  Oh,  mamma !  If  he  should  be  disap 
pointed  in  me !  " 

"  Not  so  bad  as  if  you  were  to  be  disappointed  in 
him,"  I  put  in  with  no  other  motive  than  to  cheer  her  up. 

But  it  only  shocked  her.  "  In  Hugh !  "  she  ex 
claimed,  meaning  in  Cecil  Robert  Grunleigh  Percival 
Hugh  Massingford,  Marquis  of  Crossley,  etc.  "  /  dis 
appointed  in  him!  Oh,  papa!  You  don't  realize!  " 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  I,  getting  myself  away  as 
speedily  as  my  legs  would  carry  me. 

Through  these  joyous  scenes  of  youth  and  love  and 
luxury  I  moved  gloomily — restless,  bitter,  tormented  by 
self-reproaches  and  by  thoughts  of  the  woman  I  loved. 
What  Edna  had  said  about  her,  though  I  knew  it  was 
by  way  of  precautionary  cattishness,  put  into  my  mind 
the  inevitable  suspicion — no,  not  actual  suspicion,  but 
germ  of  suspicion — the  almost  harmless  germ  from 
which  the  most  poisonous  suspicions  may  develop.  I 
went  round  and  round  my  mental  image  of  Mary  Kirk- 
wood.  I  viewed  it  from  all  angles.  But  I  could  not 
find  a  trace  of  the  flaw  Edna  had  asserted.  I  analyzed 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

her  with  all  the  analytical  skill  I  possessed,  and  that,  I 
flatter  myself,  is  not  a  little.  No  one  who  has  not  the 
faculty  of  analysis  ever  gets  anywhere ;  no  one  who  has 
that  faculty  ever  escapes  the  charge  of  cynicism.  Shal 
low  people — the  sort  that  make  such  a  charge — will 
regard  it  as  proof  of  my  utter  cynicism,  my  absolute 
lack  of  sentiment,  that  I  was  able  to  analyze  the  woman 
I  loved,  or  pretended  I  loved.  But  I  assure  you,  gentle 
reader,  that  not  even  love  and  passion  suspend  the  ha 
bitual  processes  of  a  good  mind.  The  reason  you  have 
read  the  contrary  so  often  is  because  precious  few 
writers  about  men  of  the  superior  sort  have  the  capacity 
to  comprehend  the  intellects  they  try  to  picture.  To 
the  man  of  large  affairs,  the  average — and  many  a  one 
above  the  average — biography  or  novel  about  a  great 
man  reads  like  the  attempt  of  a  straddle  bug  to  give  his 
fellow  straddle  bugs  an  account  of  an  elephant. 

I  was  the  only  inharmonious  figure  in  that  round  of 
festivals.  But  no  one  observed  me.  I  simply  got  the 
reputation  of  being  a  man  of  reserve,  a  thinker  rather 
than  a  talker — as  if  there  ever  lived  a  thinker  who  did 
not  overflow  with  torrents  of  talk  like  a  spring  fed  from 
a  glacier;  but,  of  course,  the  spring  flows  only  when 
the  conditions  are  favorable,  not  when  it  is  ice-bound. 
I  was  not  even  interested  in  observing.  There  is  a 
monotony  about  the  actions  of  fashionable  people  that 
soon  reduces  a  spectator  of  agile  mind  to  stupor.  The 
same  thing  over  and  over  again,  with  variations  so 
slight  that  only  a  nit-wit  would  be  interested  in  them — 
Could  there  be  a  worse  indictment  of  the  intelligence  of 
the  human  race  than  that  so  large  a  part  of  its  pre- 
273 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sumably  most  intelligent  classes  engage  in  the  social 
farce,  which  is  an  example  of  aimless  activity  about  on 
a  level  with  a  dog's  chasing  its  own  tail? 

But  Edna 

As  I  look  back  on  those  weeks  of  days,  each  one 
crowded  like  a  ragbag  with  rubbish,  the  figure  of  Edna 
stands  out  radiant.  You  would  never  have  thought  her 
the  mother  of  the  bride — or,  indeed,  a  mother  at  alL 
!A  woman  who  for  many  years  leads  a  virginal  or  almost 
virginal  life  gets  back  the  vestal  air  of  the  unmarried 
girl.  This  air  had  returned  to  Edna.  She  had  it  as 
markedly  as  had  Margot.  It  was  most  becoming  to 
her  piquant  style  of  beauty,  giving  it  the  allure  of  the 
height  that  invites  ascent  and  capture,  yet  has  never 
been  desecrated.  And  how  she  did  enjoy  the  grandeur 
— the  great  names,  the  gorgeous  presents  of  curiously 
and  costlily  wrought  gold  and  silver  and  crystal, 
and  precious  stones,  the  succession  of  panoramas  of 
ultra-fashionable  life,  with  herself  and  Margot  always 
the  center. 

I  used  to  stand  aside  and  watch  her  and  feel  as  if 
I  were  hypnotized  into  vivid  hallucinations.  I  recalled 
the  incidents  of  our  early  life — Brooklyn,  the  Passaic 
flat,  the  squat  and  squalid  homes  of  our  childhood.  I 
recalled  our  people — hers  and  mine — tucked  away  in 
homely  obscurity  among  the  New  Jersey  hills.  But  by 
no  effort  of  mind  could  I  associate  her  with  these  reali 
ties.  She  had  literally  been  born  again.  I  looked  at 
the  other  Americans  of  humble  beginnings — and  there 
were  not  a  few  of  them  in  that  society.  All  had  re 
tained  some  traces  of  their  origin,  had  some  character- 

274 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

istics  that  made  it  not  difficult  to  connect  their  present 
with  their  past.  But  not  Edna. 

At  the  wedding — in  the  most  fashionable  church  in 
the  West  End — Margot  looked  weary  and  rather  old, 
gone  slightly  stale  from  too  long  and  hard  preliminary 
training.  Edna  was  at  her  best — delicate,  fragile,  ra 
diant.  How  the  other  women  hated  her  for  that  time- 
defying  beauty  of  hers !  Many  of  the  women  of  her  still 
youthful  age  retained  much  of  the  physical  attractive 
ness  of  youth.  But  there  was  not  another  one  who  was 
not  beginning  tq  show  the  effects  of  dissipation — of  too 
much  food  and  wine  and  cigarettes,  of  lives  devoid  of 
elevating  sensations,  of  minds  used  only  for  petty,  mean 
thoughts.  But  Edna  seemed  in  the  flower  of  that  period 
when  the  secrets  of  the  soul  have  as  yet  made  no  marks 
upon  the  countenance.  You  would  have  said  she  was  a 
merry  and  romantic  girl.  I  could  not  fathom  that 
mystery.  I  cannot  fathom  it  now.  Its  clew  must  be 
in  her  truly  amazing  powers  of  self-deception  and  also 
in  that  unique  capacity  of  hers  for  forgetting  the  thing, 
no  matter  what,  that  is  disagreeable  to  remember. 

When  we  were  at  last  alone,  with  the  young  couple 
off  for  the  yacht  Lord  Shangway  had  loaned  them  for 
the  honeymoon,  with  the  last  guest  gone  and  the  last 
powdered  flunkey  vanished — when  she  and  I  were  alone, 
she  settled  herself  with  a  sigh  and  said: 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  it  begin  all  over  again !  " 

"  You  must  be  built  of  steel,"  said  I. 

"  I  am  supremely  happy,"  said  she,  "  and  have  been 
for  weeks.  Nothing  agrees  with  me  so  thoroughly  as 
happiness." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  looked  at  her  scrutinizingly.  No,  she  was  not  the 
least  tired ;  she  was  as  fresh  as  if  that  moment  risen  from 
a  long  sleep  in  the  air  of  seashore  or  mountains. 

She  went  on :  "  I'm  going  over  to  Paris  to-morrow. 
I've  .a  lot  of  engagements  there.  And  I  must  get  some 
clothes.  I've  worn  out  all  I  brought  with  me." 

"  Worn  out "  meant  worn  once  or  at  most  twice ; 
for  in  a  society  where  everyone  is  seeing  everyone  else 
all  the  time  a  woman  with  a  reputation  for  dress  cannot 
afford  to  reappear  in  clothes  once  seen.  In  some  circles 
this  would  sound  delightfully  prodigal,  in  others  de 
lightfully  impossible,  and  perhaps  in  still  others  delight 
fully  criminal.  But  then  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  rela 
tive — like  everything  else  in  the  world. 

"  Won't  you  come  along?  "  said  she  in  a  perfunctory 
tone. 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  replied.  "  I'm  off  for  Russia  with 
a  party  of  bankers  to  look  at  some  mining  properties." 

"  I  thought  you  were  returning  to  New  York?  " 

"  Not  for  several  months,"  said  I. 

66  How  can  you  stay  away  so  long  from  your  be 
loved  America?  " 

"  Business — always  business." 

She  eyed  me  somewhat  as  one  eyes  a  strange,  mildly 
interesting  specimen.  "Well — you  must  enjoy  it,  or 
you  wouldn't  keep  at  it  year  in  and  year  out." 

"  One  has  to  pass  the  time,"  said  I. 

"  How  does  Mary  Kirkwood  pass  the  time  ?  " 

This  unexpected  and — except  sub-consciously — 
accidental  question,  staggered  me  for  an  instant.  "  I 
don't  know  much  about  it,"  said  I.  "  She  has  a  house 

276 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

— and  she  looks  after  it,  herself.  She  reads,  I  believe. 
She  has  gardens — and  they  use  up  a  lot  of  time.  Then 
she  rides." 

Edna  yawned.  "  It  sounds  dull,"  she  said.  "  But 
domestic  people  are  always  dull.  And  she  is  certainly 
domestic.  I  wonder  why  she  doesn't  marry  again." 

I  was  silent. 

"Are  any  men  attentive  to  her?  It  seems  to  me  I 
heard  something  about  a  novelist — some  poor  man  who 
is  after  her  money." 

I  was  choking  with  rage  and  jealousy. 

"  Did  you  see  any  such  man  about?  " 

I  contrived  to  compose  myself  for  a  calm  reply. 
66  No  one  answering  to  your  description,"  said  I. 

"Do  you  like  her?" 

"  You  asked  me  that  once  before,"  said  I. 

"  Oh — I  forgot.  It  seems  to  me  you  and  she  would 
have  exactly  suited  each  other.  You  like  domestic 
women.  That  is,  you  think  you  do.  Really,  you'd 
probably  fly  from  a  woman  of  that  sort." 

"  And  a  woman  of  the  other  sort  would  fly  from 
me,"  said  I,  laughing. 

She  looked  at  me  thoughtfully.  "  You  must  admit 
you're  not  easy  to  get  on  with — except  at  a  distance," 
observed  she.  "  But  men  of  positive  individuality  are 
never  easy  to  get  on  with.  A  big  tree  blights  all  the 
little  trees  and  bushes  that  try  to  grow  in  its  neigh 
borhood.  .  .  .  No,  Godfrey  dear,  you  weren't  made  for 
domestic  life — you  and  I.  Domestic  life  is  successful 
only  where  there  are  two  very  small  and  very  much 
alike.  People  like  us  have  to  live  alone." 

277 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  rose  abruptly.  There  was  for  me  a  sound  in  that 
"  alone  "  like  the  slam  of  a  graveyard  gate. 

"  You  never  will  appreciate  me — how  satisfactory 
I've  been,"  she  went  on,  "  until  you  marry  again." 

"  I  must  make  my  final  arrangements  for  Russia," 
said  I. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  in  the  morning?  I'm  leaving 
rather  early." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  L 

"  Then  we'll  meet  when  you  come  back.  We'll  visit 
Margot  at  Sothewell  Abbey."  She  rose,  drew  herself 
to  her  full  height  with  a  graceful  gesture  of  triumph. 
"  Don't  you  honestly  rather  like  it,  being  the  father  of 
a  Marchioness?  " 

I  could  not  speak.     I  looked  at  her. 

"  How  solemn  you  are !  "  laughed  she.  "  Well, 
good-by,  dear."  And  she  held  out  her  hand  and  turned 
her  face  upward  for  me  to  kiss  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  I'll  probably  see  you  in  the  morning,"  I  said, 
"  or  to-night."  And  away  I  went. 

From  Russia  I  drifted  to  India,  intending  to  return 
home  by  the  Pacific.  At  Bombay  I  met  Lord  Blanken- 
ship,  and  he  persuaded  me  to  cross  to  East  Africa.  I 
found  him  a  companion  exactly  to  my  taste.  He  was 
a  silent  chap  having  nothing  to  think  about  and  noth 
ing  to  think  with — a  typical  and  model  product  of  the 
aristocratic  education  that  completes  a  man  as  a  sculp 
tor  completes  an  image,  and  prepares  him  to  stand  in 
his  appointed  niche  until  decay  tumbles  him  down  as 
rubbish.  I  had  lost  all  my  former  passion  for  talking 

278 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

and  listening.  I  wished  to  confine  myself — my  thoughts 
• — to  the  trivial  matters  of  the  senses,  to  lingering  over 
and  tinkering  with  the  physical  details  of  life.  The 
silent  and  vacant  Blankenship  set  me  a  perfect  exam 
ple,  one  easy  to  fall  into  the  habit  of  following. 

At  Paris,  I  picked  up  my  private  secretary,  Mark- 
ham,  and  resumed  attention  to  my  affairs.  I  had  ar 
ranged  for  things  to  go  on  without  me,  when  I  set  out 
for  East  Africa.  I  found  that  my  guess  as  to  how  they 
would  go  had  been  correct.  For  a  month  or  so  there 
was  confusion — the  confusion  that  is  inevitable  when  a 
man  who  has  attended  to  everything  abruptly  throws 
up  his  leadership.  Then  the  affairs  in  which  he  fan 
cied  himself  indispensable  begin  to  move  as  well  as  if 
he  were  at  the  throttle — perhaps  better.  The  most 
substantial  result  of  my  neglect  seemed  to  be  that  I 
had  become  much  richer,  had  more  than  recovered  what 
my  purchase  of  a  son-in-law  had  cost  me. 

Markham,  who  had  been  at  Cairo  two  months,  had 
got  himself  engaged  to  be  married.  For  several  years 
I  had  been  promising  him  a  good  position,  that  is  to 
say,  one  more  fitting  a  grown  man  of  real  capacity. 
But  he  made  himself  so  useful  that  I  put  off  redeeming 
my  promise  and  eased  my  conscience  and  quieted  his 
ambition  with  a  succession  of  increases  of  salary. 
Now,  however,  I  could  no  longer  delay  releasing  him. 
So  I  must  go  back  to  New  York,  to  find  some  one  to  take 
his  place.  Blankenship  was  wavering  between  a  trip 
through  West  Africa  and  going  to  America  with  me, 
on  the  chance  of  my  accompanying  him  on  a  shooting 
trip  through  British  Columbia.  He  decided  to  stick 

279 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  me,  and  as  I  had  grown  thoroughly  used  to  having 
him  about  I  was  rather  glad.  It  is  astonishing  how 
much  comfort  one  can  get  out  of  the  society  of  a  silent 
man,  when  one  feels  that  he  is  a  good  fellow  and  a  de 
voted  friend. 

I  telegraphed  Edna  that  I  would  be  unable  to  come 
to  London,  where  she  then  was.  But  she  defeated  my 
plan  for  not  seeing  her.  When  I  reached  Paris  there 
she  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  Ritz.  She  had  a  swarm 
of  French,  Italians,  and  English  about  her — I  believe 
there  were  some  Germans  or  Austrians,  also.  I  refused 
to  be  annoyed  with  them,  and  we  dined  quietly  with 
Blankenship,  Markham,  and  a  pretty  little  Countess  de 
Salevac  to  act  as  buffers  between  us.  I  tried  to  avoid 
being  left  alone  with  her,  but  she  would  not  have  it  so. 
She  insisted  on  my  coming  to  her  sitting  room  after 
the  others  had  gone. 

"  I  know  you  are  tired,"  said  she,  "  but  I  shan't  de 
tain  you  long." 

"  Please  don't,"  said  I.  "  The  journey  has  knocked 
me  out.  I've  not  slept  for  two  nights." 

"  It's  a  shame  to  worry  you " 

I  made  for  the  door.  "  Not  to-night — no  worries. 
They'll  keep  until  to-morrow." 

"  No,  Godfrey  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  must  tell  you 
at  once.  There  is  serious  trouble  between  Margot  and 
Hugh." 

"  Why,  they  haven't  been  married  a  year." 

"  He  has  been  treating  her  shamefully  from  the 
outset.  In  fact,  he  cut  short  the  honeymoon  to  hurry* 
back  to  that  music-hall  person." 

280 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"The  one  I  saw  him  with?" 

"  Yes — the  same  one — that  notorious  Jupey 
What's-her-name.  Isn't  it  dreadful!  Margot's  pride 
is  up  in  arms.  Nothing  I  say  will  quiet  her." 

"  Urn,"  said  I. 

"  She  refuses  to  understand  that  over  here  husbands 
are  allowed  a — a " 

"  Latitude,"  I  suggested. 

"  More  latitude  than  in  America.  I  have  talked 
with  Hugh,  too.  He  is — very  difficult.  Really,  he  isn't 
at  all  as  he  seemed.  He  is  a — he  is  horribly  coarse." 

"  People  who  think  of  nothing  but  how  to  get  money 
without  work  and  how  to  spend  it  without  usefulness 
are  apt  to  be  coarse,  when  you  probe  through  to  the 
reality  of  them." 

"  He  is — defiant,"  pursued  she,  too  femininely  prac 
tical  to  have  interest  in  or  patience  with  philosophy. 
"  He —  Godfrey,  he  says  he  hates  her.  He  won't 
speak  to  her.  And  there's  no  prospect  of  an  heir.  He 
says  he  wants  to  get  rid  of  her." 

These  successive  admissions  of  a  worse  and  worse 
mess  were  forced  from  her  by  my  air  of  indifference. 
"  What  has  she  done?  "  I  asked. 

"  Done?     I  don't  understand " 

"  What  has  she  done  to  drive  him  to  extremes  ?  " 

"  Godfrey !  "  she  cried  in  a  shocked  tone.  "  You 
— taking  sides  against  your  daughter — your  only 
child!  Have  you  no  paternal  feeling,  either?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  I.  "  You  see,  I've  seen  little  of 
Margot — not  enough  to  get  acquainted  Bath  her.  And 
you  educated  her  so  that  we  are  uncongenial.  No — 

281 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

since  you  set  me  to  thinking,  I  find  I  haven't  much  pa 
ternal  feeling  for  her.  I  used  to  have  in  Passaic,  when 
I  wheeled  her  about  the  streets  on  Sundays." 

I  paused  to  enjoy  the  shame  my  wife  was  struggling 
with. 

"  But  soon  after  we  moved  to  Brooklyn " 

Edna  winced  and  shivered. 

"  You  sent  her  away  to  begin  to  be  a  lady.  And 
a  lady  she  is — and  ladies  are  not  daughters — are  not 
women  even." 

"  You  must  help  me,  Godfrey,"  said  Edna,  after  a 
strained  silence.  "  Margot  is  wretched,  and  a  dreadful 
scandal  may  break  out  in  time.  Already  people  are 
talking.  Margot  is  ashamed  to  show  herself  in  public. 
She  thinks  everyone  is  laughing  at  her." 

"  No  doubt  she's  right,"  said  I.  "  A  woman  who 
loses  her  husband  on  the  honeymoon  is  likely  to  be  laughed 
at.  ...  What  did  she  do?  " 

"  Why  do  you  persist  in  saying  that  ?  "  cried  she, 
so  irritated  that  she  could  not  altogether  restrain  her 
self.  "  Your  dislike  of  women  has  become  a  mania 
with  you." 

"  But  I  don't  dislike  them,"  replied  I.  "  On  the  con 
trary,  I  like  them — like  them  so  well  that  their  worth- 
lessness  angers  me  like  the  treachery  of  a  friend.  And 
I  believe  so  much  in  their  power  that,  when  things  go 
wrong,  I  blame  them.  They  have  dominion  over  the 
men  and  over  the  children.  And  whenever  they  use  their 
powers  it  is  to  make  fools  of  the  men  and  weaklings  of 
[the  children.  I  don't  know  which  is  the  worse  influence — 
Ihe  wishy-washy,  unpractical,  preacher  morality  of  the 

282 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


tgood  woman  or  the  lazy,  idle,  irresponsible  dissipation  of  ) 
the — the  ladies  and  near-ladies  and  lady-climbers  and 
lady-imitators." 

"  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  poor  Margot !  " 
exclaimed  she  impatiently. 

"  Everything  to  do  with  her,"  replied  I.  "  Still — 
it's  a  spilt  pail  of  milk.  As  for  the  present — and  fu 
ture —  How  can  I  do  anything  to  help  her  ?  " 

"  You  can't,  if  you  condemn  her  unheard." 

66 1  don't  condemn  her.  I  am  simply  recognizing  that 
there  are  two  sides  to  this  quarrel.  And  I  assure  you, 
you  only  make  matters  worse  when  you  interfere  without 
recognizing  that  fact.  So  I  say  again,  what  did  she 
do?  " 

My  wife  calmed  slightly  and  replied :  "  He  says  she 
made  him  ridiculous  with  the  airs  she  put  on." 

I  laughed.    "  After  the  education  you  gave  her  ?  " 

"  That's  right !     Blame  me !  " 

"  And  aren't  you  to  be  blamed  ?  "  urged  I.  "  Didn't 
you  have  full  charge  of  her  from  the  time  she  was  born  ? 
Couldn't  you  have  made  what  you  pleased  of  her? 
Didn't  you  make  what  you  pleased  of  her?  " 

Edna  tossed  her  head  indignantly.  "  I  never  taught 
her  to  be  a  vulgar  snob." 

"  Why,  I  thought  that  was  her  whole  education." 

Edna  ignored  this  interruption.  "  It's  all  very  well 
for  the  women  of  noble  families  to  act  the  snob,"  pur 
sued  she.  "  Lots  of  them  do,  and  no  one  criticises.  But 
Margot  ought  to  have  had  sense  enough  to  realize  that 
she,  a  mere  American,  couldn't  afford  to  do  it.  I  warned 
her  that  her  cue  was  sweetness  and  an  air  of  equality. 

283 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  told  her  that  her  title  in  itself  would  keep  people  at 
their  proper  distance.    But  she  lost  her  head." 

"  Then  the  thing  for  her  to  do  is  to  behave  herself." 

"  It's  too  late,  I'm  afraid.  The  tide  has  turned 
against  her.  All  the  women — especially  the  titled  Eng 
lish  women  of  good  family — were  against  her — hated 
her — were  ready  to  stab  her  in  the  back.  And  her 
haughtiness  and  condescension  gave  them  the  chance." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  propose  ?  To  give  him  more 
money  ?  " 

Edna  showed  none  of  her  familiar  scorn  of  sordid 
things.  She  reflected,  said  uncertainly :  "  I  wonder 
would  that  do  any  good  ?  " 

"  To  win  anyone  give  them  what  they  most  want," 
said  I.  "  What  do  your  friends  over  here  want  above 
everything  and  anything?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  confessed  she.  Consider, 
gentle  reader,  what  this  confession  involved,  how  it  ex 
posed  the  rotten  insincerity  of  all  her  and  her  fine  friends' 
pretenses.  "  Yes,  I  guess  you're  right,  Godfrey."  She 
pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples.  "  Jt  simply  must  be 
straightened  out.  I  am  quite  distracted.  I  can't  afford 
to  lose  sleep  and  to  be  harrowed  up.  Those  things  mean 
ruin  to  a  woman's  looks.  And  what  would  I  do  if  she 
were  flung  back  on  my  hands  in  this  disgraceful  fash 
ion!" 

"  You  want  me  to  go  to  London?  " 

"  Godfrey,  you  must  go.  You  must  see  her,  and  him, 
too." 

"  I  was  thinking  it  would  be  enough  to  see  him.  But 
perhaps  you're  right." 

284 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  She  is  clean  mad,"  cried  Edna,  with  sudden  fury 
against  her  daughter.  "  She  doesn't  appreciate  the  peril 
of  her  position.  One  minute  she's  all  for  groveling.  The 
next  she  talks  like  an  idiot  about  her  rank  and  power. 
Oh,  she  is  a  fool — a  fool!  I  always  knew  she  was — 
though  I  wouldn't  admit  it  to  myself.  You  never  will 
know  what  a  time  I've  had  training  her  to  hide  it 
enough  to  make  a  pleasing  appearance.  She  is  a  brain 
less  fool." 

"  A  fool,  but  not  brainless,"  said  I.  "  Her  educa 
tion  made  her  a  fool  and  paralyzed  her  brain.  You  see* 
she  didn't  have  the  advantages  you  had  in  your  early 
training.  In  your  early  days  you  had  the  chance  to 
learn  something — the  useful  things  that  have  saved  you 
from  the  consequences  of  such  folly  as  you've  taught 
her." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  cried  Edna  in  disgust.  "  But 
we  mustn't  quarrel.  I'm  agitated  enough  already.  You 
will  go  to  London  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  after  reflecting.     "  I'll  go." 

"When?" 

"  To-morrow." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you." 

"  No,"  said  I  firmly.  "  Either  I  manage  this  affair 
alone  or  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  But,  Godfrey,  there  are  so  many  things  about 
these  people  that  you  don't  understand.  And  you " 

"  I  understand  the  essential  thing,"  said  I.  "  And 
that  is  their  mania  for  money." 

She  was  on  the  verge  of  hysteria — afraid  I  would 
not  go,  afraid  of  what  I  would  do  if  I  did  go.  "  But 
19  285 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

they  have  to  be  handled  carefully,"  she  urged.  "  If  you 
put  them  in  a  position  where  their  pride  won't  let  them 
take  the — the  money : 

"  Trust  me,"  said  I.  "  Go  to  bed,  sleep  soundly, 
and  trust  me." 

I  stood.  She  suddenly  flung  herself  against  my 
breast  and  began  to  sob  on  my  shoulder.  "  You  are 
hard  and  cold,"  she  said.  "  You  have  no  sympathy  with 
me — no  feeling  for  anything  but  business.  But  some 
how — in  spite  of  it  all — I  have  such  a  sense  of  your 
strength  and  your  honesty." 

I  laughed  rather  awkwardly,  patted  her  shoulder, 
helped  her  to  a  chair.  "  There  are  times  when  a  coarse, 
common  American  business  man  of  a  husband  has  his 
uses — and  advantages,"  I  said  lightly.  "  I'll  telegraph 
you  how  things  are  going." 

She  dried  her  eyes,  looked  at  me  in  a  puzzled  way. 
"  You  always  repulse  me,"  she  said. 

"  I  appreciate  your  kindness  in  remembering  to  toss 
a  few  crumbs  to  the  starving  man,"  laughed  I.  "  They 
are  precious  crumbs,  no  doubt,  and  more  than  he  de 
serves.  But — please  don't  do  it.  He  hates  that  sort  of 
thing.  You  are  free  to  act  as  you  feel  like  acting.  I'll 
do  as  much  for  you  and  Margot  without  the  crumbs  as 
with  them." 

"  How  hard  you  are,  Godfrey !  How  you  have  al 
ways  misunderstood  me !  " 

"  That's  right,"  said  I  amiably.  "  I'm  too  coarse 
for  such  a  fine  nature.  Well — good  night." 

I  took  myself  hastily  away  to  bed;  and  at  ten  the 
next  morning  I  departed  for  London. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

I  decided  to  see  Margot  first.  She  was  at  Sothewell 
Abbey,  about  an  hour  by  express  from  Paddington.  You 
perhaps  know  Sothewell  Abbey  through  the  pictures  and 
descriptions.  And  it  is  indeed  an  imposing  pile  of  old 
masonry  seated  in  the  midst  of  a  park  of  surpassing 
beauty.  As  soon  as  I  entered  the  ancient  gates  for  the  \ 
two-mile  drive  to  the  Abbey,  I  saw  signs  that  my  money 
was  in  action.  When  I  first  visited  it,  the  lodge  was  in 
sad  disrepair,  the  gates  were  about  to  fall  to  pieces  and 
the  vista  of  the  drive  was  unkempt.  Now,  all  was 
changed.  The  servile  pair  who  came  out  to  open  for 
me,  and  made  me  fear  they  would  drop  down  on  their 
bellies  and  crawl  before  me,  were  neatly  and  properly 
dressed,  in  strong  contrast  to  their  former  appearance. 

The  exterior  of  the  house,  which  had  been  most  "  ro 
mantic  "  but  obviously  the  front  of  poverty  and  decay, 
looked  much  better — not  younger  I  hasten  to  assure  you, 
quiet  reader,  but  somewhat  like  a  hairless,  toothless  old 
man  when  he  gets  a  nice  white  wig  on  his  pate  and  a 
set  of  good  false  teeth  on  his  shriveled  gums.  I  saw 
gardeners  at  work — and  plenty  there  was  for  them  to  do. 
Within,  I  saw  evidences  of  a  more  adequate  staff  of 
servants ;  but  the  great  halls  were  dreary  and  bare  and 
dingy.  That  was  a  cold  summer  in  England,  even  colder  i 
than  the  summer  usually  is.  So,  the  enormous  house  was 
literally  uninhabitable,  like  all  the  European  palaces, 
city  and  country,  that  I  have  been  in.  I  can  fancy  what 
such  a  place  must  be  in  winter  with  no  way  of  heating  it 
but  open  fireplaces,  and  not  many  of  them.  I  can't  con 
ceive  any  sane  American,  used  to  comfort  in  the  way  of 
steam  heat,  spending  a  winter  in  the  English  country. 

287 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  know  it  is  done  by  Americans  reputedly  sane;  but  if 
those  at  home  knew  what  Europe  in  winter  meant — the 
old-fashioned  "  romantic  "  Europe — they  would  not  be 
lieve  their  expatriated  countrymen  sane  in  sacrificing 
comfort  and  health  to  vanity.  Yes,  I  believe  they  would ; 
for,  do  not  they,  at  home,  make  the  same  imbecile  sacri 
fices  to  vanity  in  other  ways? 

"  Take  me  to  some  small  warm  room,"  said  I  to  Mar- 
got,  "  before  I  catch  my  death  of  cold."  This  the  in 
stant  I  was  within  doors  and  felt  in  my  very  marrow 
the  clammy  chill  of  that  picturesque  vaulted  hall. 

"  There  isn't  any  warm  room  in  the  house,"  ror»lied 
she. 

"  How  about  the  kitchen  ?  "  said  I. 

She  looked  alarmed — being  her  mother's  own  daugh 
ter,  in  lack  of  the  sense  of  humor  as  in  many  other  ways. 
She  said  hastily :  "  The  upstairs  rooms  are  a  little  bet 
ter." 

"  They  couldn't  be  worse.  These  rooms  are  cold 
storage." 

"  I'm  getting  used  to  it,"  said  she.  "  One  doesn't 
mind  it  so  much  after  a  while." 

Her  nose  was  red  and  swollen,  and  her  voice  husky. 
She  had  a  frightful  cold  at  that  very  moment.  "  Why 
don't  you  get  out  of  here  and  go  to  a  decent  modern 
hotel  in  town?  "  said  I. 

"  Give  up  possession !  "  cried  she  in  horror.  "  He 
might  not  let  me  come  back." 

It  was  too  ridiculous.    "  Possession  of  what  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Oh,  papa!  "  cried  she,  in  despair  and  shame  at  my 
coarse  stupidity. 

288 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Possession  of  what?  "  I  repeated.  "  Of  a  dirty, 
dingy  old  cold-storage  plant.  Why  should  you  want 
to  come  back?  Put  on  your  wraps  and  let's  fly  to  town 
by  the  next  train." 

She  burst  into  tears.  "  I'd  rather  die !  "  she  sobbed. 
"  I  won't  give  up  my  position.  I  am  Marchioness  of 
Crossley  and  I  belong  here." 

"All  right,"  said  I.  "Let's  try  the  smaller 
rooms." 

She  led  me  up  a  vast  stairway — it  would  have  thrilled 
your  soul,  gentle  reader.  Think  how  it  sounds,  put  into 
the  fitting  language —  "  The  beautiful  young  Mar 
chioness  conducted  her  father  up  the  ancient  and  mag 
nificent  stairway  that  rose  from  the  spacious  mediaeval 
hall  and  swept  in  a  curve  of  wonderfully  wrought  stone 
work,  dating  from  the  thirteenth  century,  to  the  upper 
chambers  of  the  majestic  old  abbey."  I  hurried  her  as 
fast  as  I  could,  for  we  both  were  sneezing  and  a  hideous 
draught  like  the  breath  of  death  was  streaming  from 
somewhere.  I  don't  mind  looking  at  pictures  of  abbeys 
and  the  like ;  but  when  I  read  of  the  grandeur  of  living 
in  that  sort  of  place,  I  laugh.  The  men  who  built  them 
did  as  well  as  they  could  in  the  age  they  lived  in.  But 
what  shall  be  said  of  men  who  dwell  in  them  now,  when 
infinitely  better  is  to  be  had? 

Those  upper  chambers !  Cold,  clammy,  draughty — 
the  furniture  and  hangings  old  and  dowdy.  And  my 
daughter's  room !  Like  a  squalid,  decrepit  tenement 
flat.  Yes,  squalid;  for  the  rugs  and  draperies  were 
dirty,  were  stained  and  frayed.  There  was  a  distinct 
tenement  odor. 

289 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Isn't  it  fascinating  ?  "  said  she,  gazing  round  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

"Where's  the  fire?"  said  I. 

She  led  me  to  a  smelly,  low-ceilinged  little  room,  like 
a  segment  out  of  a  hovel.  It  was  her  boudoir,  she  in 
formed  me.  In  one  wall,  in  a  dinky  fireplace  burned  a 
handful  of  fire. 

"  Is  that  it?  "  said  I.     "  Is  that  all?  " 

"  You  must  remember,  papa,"  said  she  proudly, 
"  that  this  isn't  a  modern  house." 

"  Ring  for  a  servant,"  said  I.  "  This  overcoat  of 
mine  is  too  light.  I  must  have  wraps  if  I'm  to  sit  here. 
And  you'd  better  get  out  your  furs  and  put  them  on." 

"  The  servants'd  think  me  mad,"  said  she.  "  Must 
you  have  a  coat?  " 

"  No — that  spread  will  do,"  said  I.  And  I  jerked 
it  from  the  sofa  and  flung  it  round  my  shoulders.  "  I 
don't  want  to  upset  your  establishment.  Good  God,  I 
had  no  idea  people  with  any  money  at  all  anywhere  on 
earth  lived  like  this.  If  you're  going  to  stay  here,  you 
must  put  in  steam  heat." 

"  Oh,  we  couldn't  do  that,  papa  dear,"  said  she  with 
a  plaintive  mingling  of  shame  for  me  and  apology  for 
the  tradition  against  sense  and  health. 

"  Let's  get  to  business,  Margot,"  said  I.  "  Sit  in 
the  fireplace — that's  right.  What's  the  trouble  ?  Your 
mother  has  explained — has  told  all  she  knew.  I've  come 
to  find  what  the  quarrel  is  really  about." 

"  Has  she  told  you  of  that  woman  ?  " 

"  Why  did  he  go  back  to  her?  " 

She  began  to  sob.  "  Oh,  the  hideous  things  he  said 
290 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  me !  I  didn't  dream  a  gentleman  could  talk  like  that. 
He  called  me  a  low  American — said  he  was  ashamed  of 
me — said  he  was  going  to  get  rid  of  me  at  any  cost, 
said " 

"  But  what  had  you  done!  "  interrupted  I. 

"  Nothing !  "  she  cried,  lifting  her  flushed  face. 
"  Absolutely  nothing — except  worship  him." 

"  What  had  you  done  ?  "  I  repeated.  As  she  started 
to  rise  I  restrained  her.  "  Stay  in  the  fireplace.  What 
was  the  beginning  of  the  row — the  very  beginning?  " 

Her  eyes  wavered,  but  she  said :  "  Nothing,  papa !  " 
though  less  vigorously. 

"  It  was  about  money,"  said  I.  "  It  always  is — in 
all  ranks  of  society.  The  beginnings  of  the  quarrels 
have  money  at  the  bottom  of  them.  Now — tell  me !  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  I  can't  help  you  unless  you  do." 

"  Oh,  it  was  so  sordid !  "  cried  she.  "  And  I  thought 
him  high  above  those  things." 

"  No  one  that's  human  is,"  said  I.  "  Any  person 
who  wears  pants  or  skirts  that  have  to  be  paid  for  is  not 
above  money." 

"  He  wanted  me  to  turn  over  to  him  all  I  had,"  said 
she.  "Think  of  that!" 

"  I  might  have  known,"  said  I. 

"  He  said  it  was  beneath  his  dignity  as  an  English 
gentleman  to  have  a  wife  independent  of  him.  And,  do 
you  know,  papa,  I  was  so  infatuated  that  I  almost 
yielded.  I  could  see  his  point  of  view.  And  I'd  have 
been  glad  to  come  to  him  for  every  cent.  Only — "  She 
stopped  short. 

291 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"Only  what?"  I  urged. 

"  I  heard  about  that  other  woman.  And  his  way  of 
treating  me —  He  said  it  was  the  proper  way  for  a 
marquis  to  treat  his  marchioness.  And  I  liked  the  dig 
nity  and  the  beauty  of  it  all,  when  others  were  about. 
But  it  seemed  to  me  that  when  we  were  alone —  Oh, 
papa,  I  can't  tell  you  these  things." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I.     "  I  understand." 

"  And  I  was — a  little  jealous,  away  down  in  my 
heart — and  suspicious.  And  I  was  afraid  he  wanted 
the  money  to  spend  on  "her." 

"Urn,"  said  I.  "You  didn't  tell  your  mother 
this?" 

"  She  hates  sordidness  of  every  kind,"  said  Margot. 
"  And  I  hadn't  the  courage.  Besides,  I'm  sure  mamma 
would  have  advised  me  to  let  him  have  his  way.  She 
wouldn't  sympathize  with  the — the  weak  side  of  my 
character." 

I  was  interested.  Could  it  be  that  Edna's  daughter 
had  a  "  weak  " — a  human  side  ?  Could  it  be  that  her 
education  and  her  mode  of  life  had  not  altogether  killed 
the  natural  and  made  her  soul  a  garden  of  artificial 
flowers  only? 

"  So,  you  want  to  be  free  from  him?  "  said  I. 

"  Free  from  him !  "  cried  she,  aghast.  "  Give  up  my 
position  ?  Oh,  papa — never — never!  " 

"  But  you  don't  love  him.  Don't  come  away  from 
that  fire!" 

She  seated  herself  by  the  miserable  smoky  little  blaze 
again.  "  He  is  my  husband.  I  am  his  wife.  I  am  the 
Marchioness  of  Crossley."  And  she  drew  herself  up 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  as  much  of  an  air  as  her  cold  and  the  contracted 
space  in  the  chimney-piece  permitted.  Unluckily,  the 
sudden  gesture  caused  a  current  of  air,  and  she  sneezed 
once — twice — three  times. 

"  Better  get  those  furs,"  said  I.  "  You  want  the 
man  back?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.  I  must  have  him  back."  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  wailed,  "  If  I  only  had  a  son ! 
Then — then  I'd  show  Hugh  that  he  couldn't  trample  on 
me.  But  he  has  me  in  his  power  now.  If  he  casts  me 
off  I  shan't  have  any  position  at  all.  The  women  are 
down  on  me.  They  hate  all  the  American  women,  ex 
cept  those  who  toady  to  them  and  give  them  money  or 
jewelry  or  pay  their  bridge  and  dressmaker's  bills.  And 
they're  only  too  glad  of  the  chance  to  crush  me.  But 
they'll  not  succeed !  " 

"Why  not?"  said  I  dryly. 

She  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to 
do!  Papa,  shall  I  give  him  the  money? — sign  over  all 
my  income  to  him  and  take  only  what  he'll  allow  me? 
And  would  he  come  back  if  I  did  ? 

"  He  would  not,"  said  I. 

"  Then — what  shall  I  do  ?  Oh,  what  slaves  we 
women  are!  Think  of  it,  papa!  He  wants  to  make 
a  slave  of  me  —  said  he  didn't  believe  in  women 
gadding  about  and  showing  themselves  off  in  costly 
dresses  and  causing  scandalous  talk  —  said  my  place 
was  at  home  —  looking  after  the  house  and  that  sort 
of  thing !  "  She  laughed  wildly.  "  Like  a  low,  com 
mon  servant!  And  he — he  free  to  carry  on  with  that 
woman !  " 

293 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You  might  teach  him  to  stay  at  home,  if  you  set 
him  a  good  example,"  suggested  I. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  stay  at  home  !  "  cried  she.  "  I 
didn't  marry  for  that.  I  want  to  enjoy  all  the  privileges 
of  my  rank." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  I. 

"  I  wasn't  brought  up  to  be  like  a  low,  middle-class 
woman,  or  a  workingman's  wife." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I.  "  You  are  a  lady.  You're 
made,  not  to  be  of  use  in  the  world,  but  to  enjoy  your 
self." 

She  seemed  to  find  some  cause  for  dissatisfaction  in 
my  enthusiastic  tone.  "  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  shall 
do  my  duty  as  a  member  of  the  high  nobility — lead  in 
society  and  open  bazars  and  visit  the  poor  on  our  estate 
and— and  all  that." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  I.  "  And  the  world  being  what 
it  is,  there's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  bring  him  back,  papa?  " 

"  That  depends  on  you,"  said  I  warily. 

"  I'll  do  anything — anything.  I'll  crawl  to  him,  if 
he  wants  me  to.  After  all,  he  is  the  Marquis  of  Cross- 
ley,  and  I'm  only  an  American  nobody." 

"  That's  the  proper  spirit,"  said  I.  "  But  you 
mustn't  show  it  to  him  too  plainly.  Be  moderate.  A 
little  pretense  of  dignity — of  self-respect." 

"  I  understand,"  said  she  seriously — she  was  indeed 
Edna's  own  daughter.  "  I'll  be  as  I  was  before  we  were 
married."  Her  eyes  flashed.  "  Oh,  I  can  bide  my  time. 
When  I  have  a  son !  " 

"  Get  ready  and  come  up  to  town  to-night,"  said  I, 
294 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  a  most  unfatherly  gruffness  and  curtness,  I  fear. 
"  I'm  off  now  to  deal  with  him." 

"  Be  careful  not  to  wound  his  pride,  papa,"  she 
cautioned. 

"  I  realize  the  danger  of  that,"  replied  I.  "  Come 
to  the  Savoy.  Be  on  hand,  so  I  can  get  hold  of  you 
whenever  I  need  you." 

"  Oh,  papa  dear!  "  she  cried,  and  cast  herself  into 
my  arms. 

I  brushed  my  lips  upon  her  crown  of  hair — it  was 
false  hair,  that  being  the  fashion  of  the  day.  "  Try  to 
make  yourself  as  pretty  as  you  can,"  said  I,  releasing 
her  and  myself.  "  You'll  hear  from  me  to-night  or  to 
morrow,  unless  I've  caught  my  death  in  this  damp  cave. 
You  must  leave  it  to  the  frogs,  and  snakes,  and  bats, 
and  build  yourself  a  decent  house  somewhere.  You'll 
die  here."  " 

"  I'm  afraid  Hugh  wouldn't  consent  to  live  any 
where  but  here.  It's  the  ancestral  seat,  you  know. 
The  Massingfords  have  lived  here  since  forever  and 
ever." 

"  Have  died  here,  you  mean.  Have  killed  wives  they 
wanted  to  get  rid  of,  here." 

She  startled — looked  excitedly  at  me.  "  Papa !  " 
she  exclaimed  breathlessly.  "  Yes — I  wouldn't  put  it 
past  him !  " 

I  laughed. 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "  Oh,  you  weren't 
in  earnest,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  replied  I.     "  But— don't  live  here." 

"  I  shan't,"  said  she  firmly.  "  It's  dreadful  for  the 
295 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

looks.     You've  seen  what   so  many  of  these  English 

women  look  like." 

"  Like     shriveled,     frost-bitten     apples,"     said     I. 

"  They  don't  die  because  they're  used  to  it.     But  it's 

death  for  people  accustomed  to  civilization.     Not  even 

the  steady  glow  of  pride  in  your  title  and  position  can 

keep  you  heated  up  enough  to  save  you." 

"  Will  you  give  Hugh  a  house,  if  he'll  consent?  " 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Until  to-night  or  to-morrow." 

And  I  fled  from  the  romantic  old  Abbey,  but  not  soon 

enough  to  avoid  what  was  threatening  to  be  the  cold  of 

my  life. 


IX 


THE  moment  I  was  in  London,  and  before  that 
Sothewell  Abbey  cold  had  a  chance  to  grip  me,  I  went 
at  it.  Starve,  stay  in  bed,  and  keep  the  air  out  for  a  day 
• — that'sTthe  way  to  put  a  cold  out  of  business.  Unless 
it  be  some  occasional  prodigy  endowed  with  superhuman 
common  sense  and  self-restraint,  no  one  learns  how  to 
take  care  of  his  health  except  by  experience.  The  doc 
tors  know  precious  little  about  disease ;  about  health  they 
know  nothing — naturally,  they  have  no  interest  in  health. 
The  average  human  being  not  only  does  not  know  how 
to  take  care  of  his  health,  but  also  does  not  wish  to  learn 
how ;  health  involves  self-denial,  cutting  down  on  food, 
drink,  tobacco  and  the  other  joys  of  life.  So  he  who 
wishes  to  avoid  enormous  payments  in  discomfort  and 
j  pain  for  slight  neglects  and  transgressions  of  physical 
•  laws  has  to  work  it  out  for  himself.  I've  made  several 
valuable  discoveries  in  the  science  and  art  of  living ;  about 
the  most  valuable  of  them  is  that  every  illness  starts 
under  cover  of  a  cold.  So  I  instantly  take  myself  in 
hand  whenever  I  begin  to  sneeze  and  to  have  chilly  sen 
sations  or  a  catch  in  the  throat.  The  result  has  been 
that  since  I  was  thirty  I  have  not  spent  a  cent  on  doctors 
or  lost  a  day  through  illness,  and  I've  eaten  and  drunk 
about  as  I  pleased.  I  can  see  gentle  reader's  expression 

297 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  disdain  at  these  confessions  as  to  my  care  for  health. 
You  are  welcome  to  your  disdain,  gentle  reader.  It  is 
characteristic  of  your  shallowness.  You  see,  the  chief 
difference  between  you  and  me  is  that  I  have  imagination 
while  you  have  not.  And  as  I  have  imagination,  illness 
makes  to  my  mind  a  picture  of  revolting  internal  con 
ditions  which  I  can  no  more  endure  than  I  could  endure 
having  my  outside  unclean  and  frowzy. 

Margot,  coming  by  a  later  train,  sent  me  word  that 
she  was  ill.  She  had  called  in  a  doctor.  He  poured 
some  medicine — some  poison — into  her,  of  course,  and 
so  got  her  into  the  way  of  giving  him  an  excuse  for 
robbing  her.  In  England  doctors  rank  socially  with 
butchers  and  bakers,  rank  scientifically  with  voodoo 
quacks  and  astrologers.  They  still  look  on  a  cold  as  a 
trifle,  and  treat  it  by  feeding !  The  food  and  drugs  she 
swallowed  soon  reduced  Margot  to  the  state  where  it  was 
taking  all  the  reserve  force  of  her  youth  to  save  her  from 
severe  illness.  I  was  entirely  well  the  following  day,  and 
went  to  see  her.  The  doctor — five  guineas  or  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  visit — was  coming  twice  a  day  ;  his  assistant 
— two  guineas  or  ten  dollars  a  visit — was  coming  four 
times  a  day.  The  Marchioness  of  Crossley,  a  rich  Ameri 
can,  was  ill.  Her  social  position  and  Dr.  Sir  Spratt 
Wallet's  rank  as  a  practitioner  together  made  it  im 
perative  that  the  illness  be  no  ordinary  affair.  The  sec 
ond  day  he  issued  bulletins  to  the  papers.  I  attempted 
to  interfere  in  the  treatment,  but  Margot  would  not 
have  it. 

"  She's  growing  worse  instead  of  better,"  said  I  to 
Wallet. 

298 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  he.  "  That  is  the  regular 
course  with  a  cold."  And  he  stroked  his  whiskers  and 
looked  at  me  with  dull,  self-complacent,  supercilious  eyes. 
*4  The  regular  course,  sir." 

"  In  England,  but  not  in  America,"  said  I. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  he,  with  heavy  politeness.  Then, 
after  a  heavy  pause,  "  her  ladyship  will  be  quite  fit 
again  in  a  week — quite  fit." 

As  she  was  eating  three  strapping  meals  a  day  and 
taking  rhinitis  and  another  equally  poisonous  drug  I  had 
my  doubts.  But  once  you  let  a  doctor  in  you  are  power 
less.  If  you  order  him  out  without  giving  him  an  op 
portunity  in  his  own  good  time  to  cure  the  mischief  he 
has  done  the  consequences  may  be  serious.  Not  to  linger 
over  this  incident  in  high  life,  Wallet  made  out  of  that 
cold  a  hundred  guineas,  not  counting  his  commissions 
on  the  fees  of  his  assistant,  on  the  wages  of  a  trained 
nurse,  and  on  the  stuff  from  the  chemist.  If  Margot  had 
been  English  born  the  bill  would  have  been  about  one 
fourth  that  sum — for  the  same  rank  in  society.  Slay 
the  Midianite!  But  that's  the  rule  the  world  over. 
When  I  am  "  trimmed  "  abroad  I  console  myself  with 
reflecting  on  the  fate  of  the  luckless  foreigner  visiting 
America.  Europe  trims  us  to  the  quick;  but  we  trim 
to  the  bone ;  and  when  no  foreigners  are  handy  we  keep 
in  practice  by  trimming  one  another. 

Margot's  illness  did  not  interfere  with  my  efforts 
to  right  her  matrimonial  ship  and  set  it  in  its  course 
again.  I  had  greatly  modified  my  original  plan.  It 
involved  my  seeking  the  Marquis.  My  new  plan  was 
to  compel  him  to  seek  me.  I  proceeded  so  succe#s- 

299 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

fully  that  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  Mar- 
got's  "  indisposition,"  while  I  was  at  breakfast  in 
my  sitting  room,  Markham  came  in  with  a  grin  of 
triumph  on  his  face.  "  You  win,"  he  cried.  "  But  you 
always  do." 

"Dawkins?" 

"  Here's  his  card." 

"  Let  him  up.  No — wait.  .  .  .  Tell  him  I'll  see  him 
in  half  an  hour." 

Gentle  reader,  you  are  about  to  learn  why  in  that 
controversy  over  settlements  /  abruptly  abandoned  the 
struggle  and  yielded  everything.  I  worked  with  Mark- 
ham  at  my  mail  and  telegrams  for  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  before  I  let  Dawkins  in.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  my 
treatment  of  him  had  produced  the  effect  I  had  hoped. 
He  was  a  typical  middle-class  Englishman — but  all  mid 
dle-class  Englishmen  are  typical.  He  was  fattish  and 
baldish  and  smug.  He  had  a  beef-and-beer  face,  ruddy 
and  smooth  except  tufts  of  red-gray,  curling  whiskers 
before  either  ear.  He  had  cold,  shrewd,  pious  eyes — the 
eyes  of  the  hypocrite  who  serves  the  Lord  with  every 
breath  he  draws,  and  gets  a  blessing  upon  every  crime  he 
commits  before  committing  it.  In  my  first  interviews 
with  him  I,  being  new  to  England,  had  made  the  mistake 
of  treating  him  as  an  equal,  that  is,  as  a  human  being. 
My  respect  for  myself  forbids  me  to  meet  any  of  my 
fellow-members  of  the  human  race  in  any  other  fashion. 
But  experience  has  taught  me  that  in  doing  business  with 
a  man,  it  is  being  absolutely  necessary  that  you  dominate 
him  unless  you  are  willing  to  have  him  dominate  you,  the 
most  skillful  care  must  be  taken  to  impress  him  with 

300 


THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY 

your  superiority.  A  certain  amount  of  "  side  "  is  use 
ful  in  America.  A  lot  of  it  is  imperative  in  England; 
and  if  you  are  dealing  with  an  Englishman  who  feels 
that  he  is  low,  you  dare  not  treat  him  as  an  equal  or  he 
at  once  imagines  you  are  lower  than  he,  and  despicable 
— and  you  can  do  nothing  with  him. 

I  had  suffered,  and  so  had  my  lawyer,  Norman,  for 
our  American  way  of  treating  Dawkins.  I  appreciated 
my  mistake  afterwards,  and  resolved  not  to  repeat  it. 
I  studied  the  manner  of  Crossley  and  Blankenship  and 
the  other  upper-class  men  toward  the  middle  and  lower 
classes,  and  I  learned  to  copy  it,  an  accomplishment  of 
which  I  am  not  proud,  though  common  sense  forbids  me 
to  be  ashamed  of  it.  Dawkins,  entering  with  heels  thor 
oughly  cooled,  made  ready  to  put  out  his  hand,  but  did 
so  hesitatingly.  He  saw  that  his  worst  fears  were  real 
ized,  altered  the  handshaking  gesture  into  a  tug  at  his 
right  whiskers.  Nor  did  I  offer  him  a  seat,  but  simply 
looked  at  him  pleasantly  over  the  top  of  my  newspaper 
and  said: 

"  Ah,  Dawkins,  is  that  you?  " 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Loring.  Hope  you  are  well, 
sir,"  said  Dawkins,  now  squeezing  awkwardly  into  his 
proper  place. 

I  half  turned  my  back  on  him  and  dictated  a  note 
and  a  telegram  to  Markham.  Then  I  glanced  at  Daw- 
kins  again.  "  Ah,  Dawkins,  yes — what  were  you  say 
ing?  " 

"  I  would  esteem  it  a  favor,  sir,  if  you  would  give 
me  a  few  minutes  of  your  time — alone." 

"  We  are  alone,"  said  I.    "  What  is  it?  " 
20  301 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

The  solicitor  shifted  his  portly  frame  uneasily, 
smoothed  his  top  hat  with  his  gloved  left  hand,  glanced 
dubiously  at  Markham.  "  The  matter  is  confidential, 
sir — relating  to — to  the  family." 

"  Mr.  Markham  knows  more  about  my  affairs  than , 
I  do,"  said  I.     "  Don't  beat  about  the  bush,  Dawkins. 
I  have  no  time  to  waste." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  concerns 
those  bonds — the  bonds  you  turned  over  to  me  in  ar 
ranging  the  settlements." 

"  Yes.  I  remember.  Great  Lakes  and  Gulf  bonds, 
were  they  not?  " 

"  Precisely,  sir.  You  bound  us  to  a  stipulation 
that  they  were  not  to  be  converted  for  at  least  five 
years." 

"  That's  right,"  said  I.  "  In  fact,  I  made  it  impos 
sible  for  you  to  convert  them." 

A  pained  expression  came  into  the  face  of  Dawkins. 

"  I  believe  I  conceded  everything  else  your  client  de 
manded,"  pursued  I. 

"  But  it  now  develops,  sir,"  said  Dawkins,  "  that  that 
was  the  only  important  thing." 

"Really?"  said  I. 

"  You  have  doubtless  seen  the  papers  these  last  few 
days — the  stock  market." 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes — so  the  bonds  are  dropping.  That's 
unfortunate." 

"  Dropping  rapidly,"  said  Dawkins.  "  And  there 
are  rumors  that  Great  Lakes  and  Gulf  will  soon  be  prac 
tically  worthless." 

"  So  I've  read." 

302 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  release  us.  We  wish  to 
sell.  We  must  sell.  If  we  don't  the  settlement  on  jour 
son-in-law  will  be  worthless." 

I  smiled  agreeably.  "  As  worthless  as  his  promises 
to  my  daughter.  As  worthless  as  he  is." 

Dawkins  was  breathing  heavily.  His  pious  eyes  were 
snapping  with  rage.  He  had  prided  himself  on  his 
astuteness.  He  had  gloated  over  his  shrewdness  in  out 
witting  Norman  and  me.  And  now  he  discovered  that 
the  boot  was  on  the  other  leg.  I  had  trapped  him  and 
put  him  and  his  client  in  my  power. 

I  leaned  back  comfortably  and  smiled.  "  Of  course 
I  know  nothing  about  it,  Dawkins,  but  I  am  willing  to 
make  a  Yankee  guess  that  the  bonds  will  continue  to 
drop  until " 

When  my  pause  became  unendurable,  he  said :  "  Yes, 
sir.  Until  when  ?  " 

"  Until  I  discover  some  signs  of  value  in  my  son- 
in-law.  Then  he  may  discover  some  signs  of  value  in 
the  bonds.  Our  America  is  a  peculiar  country,  Daw- 
kins." 

"  Peculiar  will  do,  sir,"  said  he  with  respectful 
insolence.  "  But  I  should  have  chosen  another 
word." 

I  shook  my  head  laughingly.  "  What  bad  losers  you 
English  are !  "  said  I.  "  But — I'll  not  detain  you. 
Good  morning,  Dawkins." 

"  Then  I  am  to  understand,  sir ' 

But  I  had  my  back  squarely  to  him  and  was  busy 
with  Markham,  who  took  his  cue  for  the  little  comedy 
we  were  playing  like  the  well-trained  American  business 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

man  that  he  was.  Presently  Markham  said,  "  He's 
gone,  and  I  never  saw  a  madder  man  get  out  of  a  room 
more  awkwardly." 

You,  gentle  reader,  who  know  about  as  much  of  the 
science  of  managing  men  in  practical  life  as  you  know 
of  any  other  phase  of  the  world-that-is — you,  gentle 
reader,  are  shocked  by  my  rudeness  to  a  polite,  well- 
educated,  well-dressed  Englishman.  And  you  hope — 
and  feel — that  I  overreached  myself.  But  let  me  inform 
you — not  for  your  instruction  but  for  my  own  satisfac 
tion — courtesy  has  to  be  used  most  sparingly.  Human 
vanity  is  so  monstrous  that  men  eagerly  read  into  polite 
ness  to  them — the  most  ordinary  politeness — evidence 
that  their  superiority  is  inspiring  fear,  aw_e  and  desire 
to  conciliate  them.  You  often  hear  men  in  high  place 
severely  criticised  for  being  rude,  short,  arrogant,  in 
sulting.  Do  not  condemn  them  too  hastily.  It  may 
be  that  they  were  driven  into  this  attitude  toward  their 
fellows  by  the  disastrous  consequences  of  courtesy.  Be 
polite  to  a  man  and  he  will  misunderstand.  Be  cool  to 
him  and  he,  thickly  enveloped  in  his  own  good  opinion 
of  himself,  will  not  feel  it.  Rudeness,  overt  and  unmis 
takable,  is  often  the  one  way  to  reach  him  and  save  not 
only  yourself  but  also  him  from  the  consequences  of  his 
vanity.  It  is  the  instinct  of  big  men  to  be  big  and 
simple  and  natural  in  their  dealings  with  their  fellows. 
The  mass  of  little  men  with  big  vanities  compels  them 
to  suppress  this  instinct;  and  by  suppression  it  inevi 
tably  becomes  in  time  crushed  out  of  existence.  How 
can  one  who  is  busy  continue  to  show  consideration  for 
others  if  they,  instead  of  showing  a  return  consideration 

304 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

for  him,  take  it  as  tribute  to  their  importance  and  begin 
to  rear  and  impose  and  trample? 

To  cite  my  own  relatively  unimportant  case,  I  have 
long  had  a  reputation  for  coldness  and  meager  civility 
in  my  business  relations.  I  recall  distinctly  the  des 
perate  pressure  of  sheer  imposition  that  led  me  to 
abandon  my  early  openness  to  all  comers  at  all  times. 
And  I  admit  that  I  did  change;  rather  abruptly,  too, 
for  it  suddenly  came  to  me  why  I  was  slipping  back 
wards.  But  looking  only  at  my  career  since  the  change, 
when  I  think  of  the  boredom  I  have  endured,  the  folly 
I  have  permitted  to  waste  my  valuable  time — when  I 
recall  the  forbearance  I  have  shown  in  sparing  im 
pudent  and  lazy  incompetence  where  I  might,  yes,  ought 
to  have  used  the  ax — when  I  think  of  my  good-natured 
tolerance  in  face  of  extremest  daily  provocation,  year 
after  year,  I  marvel  at  myself  and  feel  how  unjust,  how 
characteristically  the  verdict  of  little  shallow  men,  is 
the  attack  on  me  as  cold  and  unsympathetic.  When 
I  consider  how  the  leaders  of  the  human  race  have  been 
tempted  to  tyranny,  I  cannot  understand  why  history 
is  able  to  record  comparatively  few  real  tyrants,  most 
of  them  being  homicidal  lunatics  like  Nero,  or  success- 
crazed  megalomaniacs  like  Napoleon,  and  almost  none 
men  of  sanity.  If  the  great  of  earth  were  as  vain, 
as  selfishly,  as  egotistically  inconsiderate  of  the  small 
as  the  small  are  of  the  great  and  of  each  other,  would 
not  the  story  of  history  have  come  to  an  end  long  ago 
for  lack  of  surviving  characters? 

Two  days  after  Dawkins  came  Crossley.  I  knew 
that  in  America  there  is  no  one  so  easily  frightened  as 

305 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  rich  man  who  has  inherited  his  wealth  and  does  not 
know  whether,  if  he  lost  it,  he  could  make  a  living  or 
not.  All  rich  men  are  cowards,  but  that  species  is 
craven.  I  suspected  that  the  same  thing  was  true  of 
the  European  type — the  nobleman  with  the  grotesque 
pose  of  disdain  for  money  that  convinces  and  captivates 
you,  gentle  reader,  and  your  favorite  authors.  Cross- 
ley's  face  instantly  showed  me  that  my  suspicion  was 
correct.  He  had  been  dissipating  wildly  for  several 
weeks,  but  it  did  not  account  for  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
If,  gentle  reader,  you  wish  to  learn  the  truth  about  the 
aristocracy  you  worship — which  you  do  not — get  an 
aristocrat  where  you  can  cut  off  or  turn  on  his  supply 
of  cash  at  will.  You  will  then  discover  that  he  who  has 
a  stiff  neck  also  has  supple  knees — the  stiffer  the  neck 
the  suppler  the  knees. 

Crossley  was  a  clever  chap  in  his  way;  that  is,  he 
knew  his  business  of  idle  spender  of  unearned  money 
thoroughly.  Another  mode  of  putting  it  would  be  the 
commonplace  and  less  exact  if  more  alluring  phrase 
"  aristocrat  to  his  finger  tips."  There  are  many  modes 
of  cringing.  He  showed  judgment  and  taste — judgment 
of  me,  taste  in  sparing  himself — in  his  choice  of  the 
mode.  With  fright  and  wariness  in  his  eyes — the  look 
of  readiness  to  go  to  any  depths  of  self-abasement  in 
gaining  his  end — he  put  a  tone  of  manly,  bluff,  shame 
faced  contrition  into  his  voice  as  he  said : 

"  Pardon  my  breaking  in  on  you  this  way.  I've 
just  heard.  Is  she  very  ill?  " 

He  meant  he  had  just  heard  about  the  bonds.  I 
knew  he  meant  that,  and  he  knew  I  knew  it.  But  we 

306 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

were  men  of  the  world.  "  Not  desperately  ill,"  said  I. 
"  Only  about  twenty  guineas  a  day." 

He  smiled  a  faint  but  flattering  appreciation  of  my 
humor,  then  resumed  his  gloomy  anxiety  and  self-re 
proach.  "  But  she  is  ill.  I  read  it  in  one  of  those 
screaming  ha'penny  rags  and  came  as  fast  as  ever  I 
could.  The  truth  is — well,  we've  had  a  bit  of  a  row. 
Has  she  told  you  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  I.     "  A  little." 

"  I've  acted  the  skunk,  the  howling  skunk — and  I 
want  to —  Do  you  think  she'll  see  me?  " 

"  If  you  wish,  I'll  find  out." 

"  I'd  be  no  end  grateful,"  said  he  with  enthusiasm* 

She  saw  him  as  soon  as  she  could  make  herself  pre 
sentable — and  her  delay  gave  him  a  chance  to  tone  up 
his  nerves  and  to  smooth  out  his  face.  That  after 
noon  I  was  able  to  telegraph  Edna  that  all  was  well. 
The  Crossleys  were  reconciled;  Love  had  scored  an 
other  of  his  famous  triumphs.  She  came  over  the 
following  day,  but  I  had  sailed  for  America  a  few  hours 
before. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  in  New  York  I  saw  Mary 
Kirkwood  and  Hartley  Beechman  lunching  together  at 
Delmonico's.  In  those  days  that  meant  an  engagement 
actual  or  impending — or,  at  least,  a  flirtation  far  ad 
vanced  into  the  stage  of  loverlike  intimacy.  I  was  in 
the  passageway  looking  through  the  glass  and  the  screen 
of  palms.  I  stood  there  long,  noting  every  detail  of 
her.  She  was  well,  perfectly  well — of  that  much  her 
eyes  and  her  color  assured  me.  Is  there  anything 

307 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

lovelier  than  a  clear  dark  skin,  tastefully  set  off  by 
black-brown  hair?  Was  she  happy?  I  could  not  tell. 
Still  in  her  face  was  that  restless,  expectant  look — not 
unlike  the  expression  of  a  child  being  shown  a  picture 
book  and  too  impatient  for  the  next  page  rightly  to 
examine  the  one  that  is  open.  An  intense  interest  in 
life,  an  intense  vitality — that  fascinating  capacity  to 
love,  if  she  found  the  right  man.  And  her  beauty 

Beauty  she  undoubtedly  had.  But  charm  does  not 
lie  in  beauty — physical  charm,  I  mean.  There  is  a 
certain  light  in  the  eyes,  a  certain  curve  of  cheek  and 
throat,  of  bosom  and  arm — and  the  blood  flames  and 
rushes.  She  had  charm  for  me.  Her  beauty  impressed 
others ;  it  was  her  charm  that  made  her  the  one  woman 
to  me. 

Blankenship  came  to  take  me  into  the  cafe  where 
we  were  to  lunch.  I  went  with  the  meager  consolation 
that  while  I  had  stood  there  she  had  given  Beechman 
not  a  single  glance  with  any  suggestion  of  a  feeling  it 
would  have  wounded  me  to  the  quick  to  see.  Should  I 
speak  to  her?  Did  I  dare  risk  the  attempt?  Would  not 
speaking  to  her  be  merely  a  useless  torment?  After 
a  long  struggle  that  could  have  but  one  end,  I  said: 
"  Excuse  me,"  rose  and  went  to  the  palm  room.  They 
were  gone;  the  waiter  was  clearing  the  table  at  which 
they  had  been  sitting.  I  stared  round  dazedly,  re 
turned  to  Blankenship. 

"  You're  not  up  to  the  mark — what?  "  said  he. 

"  New  York  doesn't  agree  with  me." 

"  I  hate  towns.  They  give  you  such  dirty  second 
hand  stuff  to  breathe.  Let's  move  on — what  ?  " 

308 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  To-morrow,"  I  said. 

But  it  seemed  there  was  no  place  on  earth  for  me. 
Don't  judge  me  so  poorly  as  to  think,  or  to  imagine  I 
thought,  this  was  due  wholly  to  Mary  Kirkwood.  I 
wish  to  be  carefully,  exactly  accurate  in  this  frank 
recital  of  a  man's  point  of  view.  She  was  responsible 
for  my  forlorn  state  to  the  extent  that  loving  her  had 
revealed  to  me  the  futility  and  failure  of  my  own  life 
and  had  made  me  see  another  sort  of  life  that  would 
have  been  possible  with  her,  that  was  impossible  without 
her — without  love  and  comradeship.  But  loving  her 
did  not  make  my  life  empty;  it  was  already  empty, 
though  I  had  not  realized  it.  I  understood  now  why 
the  big  business  men,  as  soon  as  they  reached  security, 
cast  about  for  some  real  interest.  Most  of  them — 
nearly  all — were  as  unfortunate  in  their  family  rela 
tions  as  I.  They  had  trivial  wives  and  trivial  children 
— mere  silly  strutters  and  spenders.  They  sought  in 
terest  in  art,  in  science,  in  religion,  in  exploration,  in 
philanthropy,  in  politics,  in  stamps  and  butterflies,  in 
old  books  and  antiques,  in  racing  stables  and  prize  fight 
ing,  in  gambling,  in  drink,  in  women.  Their  craving 
was  now  mine.  How  to  find  an  interest  that  would  make 
life  attractive  to  me,  with  Mary  Kirkwood  left  out — • 
there  was  my  problem. 

While  waiting  for  the  solution,  I  followed  Blanken- 
ship  to  the  Northwest.  The  second  day  from  New 
York,  as  he  and  I  were  walking  up  and  down  the  plat 
form  during  a  halt — at  St.  Paul,  I  think  it  was — Hart 
ley  Beechman  joined  us. 

"  Didn't  I  see  you  in  the  cafe  at  Delmonico's  a  few 
309 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

days  ago  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  was  getting  my  hat  and  stick 
in  a  rush.  It  certainly  looked  like  your  back." 

"  It  was,"  said  I.  And  I  was  seized  with  a  wild 
longing  to  escape  from  him  and  a  wilder  longing  to 
hold  on  to  him  and  to  pour  out  question  after  question. 

"  Mrs.  Kirkwood  and  I  were  lunching  together," 
Le  went  on.  "  We  talked  of  you.  I  told  her  I  thought 
I  had  seen  you,  and  she  said  she  heard  you  were  in 
town  and  was  much  hurt  because  you  hadn't  looked 
her  up." 

"  I  was  merely  passing  through,"  said  I. 

"  She  has  an  enormous  admiration  for  you,"  con 
tinued  he.  "  She  says  you  have  imagination — which 
means  that  she  thinks  you  in  the  small  class.  You 
know  the  world  divides  into  sheep  and  goats  on  imagina 
tion,  with  the  mass  in  the  have-not  class.  I  believe  it's 
the  true  distinction  between  House  of  Have  and  House 
of  Have-not." 

"She  is  well?"  said  I. 

"  Always.  She  knows  how  to  take  care  of  herself. 
I  never  knew  a  woman  so  sensible — and  sensible  means 
the  reverse  of  what  it's  usually  supposed  to  mean  when 
applied  to  a  woman." 

This  hardly  sounded  like  an  engaged  man  talking 
of  his  fiancee.  On  the  other  hand,  Beechman  was  a 
peculiar  chap. 

"  Does  she  still  live  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  Just  now — yes.  Last  winter  she  kept  house  for 
Bob  in  New  York." 

But  you  will  not  be  interested  in  how  I  drew  from 
him  bit  by  bit  a  hundred  details  of  her  life,  stories  of 

310 


THE   PIUS  BAND'S   STORY 

what  she  had  said  and  done.  I  saw  Beechman  several 
hours  every  day  until  he  left  us  at  Seattle.  Alternately 
I  thought  him  merely  her  closest  man  friend  and  her 
accepted  lover.  At  times  I  thought  he  was  not  quite 
sure,  himself,  in  which  position  he  stood.  When  we  were 
having  our  last  talk  together  I  nerved  myself  and  said: 

"  I  heard  in  London  that  she  was  to  be  married." 

I  felt  him  drawing  in  and  shutting  all  doors  and 
windows. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  of  it  ?  "  pursued  I. 

"  Oh,  in  the  case  of  a  woman  like  her,"  replied  he, 
"  there's  always  gossip  about  this  man  and  that." 

"  She  ought  to  marry." 

"  She  mil  marry." 

I  forced  a  smile,  and,  as  we  knew  each  other  so 
well,  I  ventured :  "  You  speak  as  one  having  authority." 

"  Don't  you  know  she  will?  "  parried  he. 

"  That  sounds  like  evasion,"  laughed  I. 

"  Not  at  all.  She  cannot  escape.  Some  man  will 
convince  her — surely." 

"  But  so  far  as  you  know,  no  man  has?  " 

His  eyes  were  frankly  mocking.  "  I  did  not  say 
that,"  said  he. 

And  I  could  get  no  further. 

Before  I  returned  to  New  York  in  the  autumn  I 
had  added  a  lot  of  far  western  enterprises  to  my  al 
ready  long  list  of  occupations.  Everything  I  touched 
seemed  to  succeed.  Even  my  new  secretary,  Rossiter, 
proved  better  than  Markham.  Markham  had  an  in 
different  memory  and  a  fondness  for  women  that  was 

311 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

trying.  Rossiter  forgot  nothing  and  was  as  shy  of 
the  women,  including  the  ladies,  as  was  Lord  Blanken- 
ship,  who  yawned  and  retreated  at  the  very  sight  of  a 
skirt.  The  news  from  England  was  altogether  satis 
factory.  An  heir  was  hoped  for,  and  Crossley  had  be 
come  a  devoted  husband  and  was  about  to  enter  politics. 
This  struck  me  as  a  huge  joke,  the  more  so  because  I 
knew  that  in  England  Crossley  would  be  welcomed  as 
a  source  of  real  strength  to  his  party.  It  seemed  to 
me  amazing  how  England  could  stagger  along  when 
she  was  being  managed  by  such  men  and  was  grateful 
for  it.  But  when  I  spoke  to  Blankenship  about  it,  he  set 
me  to  thinking  from  a  different  standpoint. 

"  My  son-in-law  is  going  into  politics,"  said  I.  "  In 
America  he  couldn't  be  elected  dog-catcher." 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  money  will  do  most  anything  most 
anywhere,"  said  he. 

The  news  from  Paris  was  equally  good.  Edna  had 
settled  there  after  a  joyous  summer  going  from  coun 
try  house  to  country  house  in  Britain,  and  from  cha 
teau  to  chateau  in  France.  She  had  seen  one  chateau 
which  she  wished  me  to  buy,  and  she  begged  me  to  come 
over  and  inspect  it.  She  did  not  explicitly  say  so,  but 
I  read  between  the  lines  that  she  was  greatly  strength 
ening  her  social  position  by  giving  out  that  she  pur 
posed  buying  a  big  place.  You  may  imagine  how  much 
enthusiasm  for  her  such  an  announcement  would  create 
among  noble  down-at-the-heel  families  eager  to  ex 
change  unsalable  old  rook-roosts  for  American  dollars. 
I  could  hear  her  talking — how  subtly  she  would  put 
forth  the  suggestion,  how  diplomatically  she  would  dis- 

312 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

cuss  each  worthless  stone  heap  in  turn — and  how  she 
would  rake  in  the  invitations  so  difficult  to  get  unless 
one  happens  to  know  how,  and  so  easy  when  one  does 
know. 

But  with  my  arrival  in  New  York  I  had  a  reverse. 
A  cable  came  from  Edna  saying  that  she  was  sailing 
at  once  and  wished  to  see  me. 

I  could  not  imagine  what  she  wanted,  and  I  did  not 
waste  much  time  in  making  guesses.  One  evening,  when 
Armitage  and  I  were  dining  together  in  the  Federal  Club 
— Blankenship  had  sailed  for  home — the  idea  flashed 
into  my  mind  that  perhaps  Edna  wanted  a  divorce. 
Immediately  I  felt  that  I  had  hit  upon  the  precise  rea 
son  for  her  coming.  You  will  have  no  difficulty  in  im 
agining  what  was  the  next  idea  in  my  train  of  thought. 
If  she  divorced  me  I  should  be  free  to  marry  whom  I 
pleased ! 

It  was  stupid  of  me,  but  in  all  my  revolvings  of  my 
hopeless  love  for  Mary  Kirkwood  never  once  had  I 
thought  of  divorcing  my  wife.  I  cannot  account  for 
this  lapse,  except  as  an  instance  of  the  universal  human 
failing  for  overlooking  the  obvious.  There  was  no  re 
ligious  scruple  in  my  early  training  to  make  me  shy 
of  divorce.  On  the  contrary,  my  parents,  like  most 
old-fashioned  Americans  of  faiths  other  than  Episco 
pal  and  Catholic — and  Episcopalians  and  Catholics 
were  few  in  the  old  American  stock,  except  in  New  York 
and  Baltimore  and  South  Carolina — most  old-fash 
ioned  Americans  believed  that  living  together  in  wed 
lock  without  love  was  sin,  that  divorce  was  no  mere 
necessary  evil,  but  a  religious  rite  as  sacred  as  mar- 

313 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

riage  itself.  A  house,  they  held,  is  either  a  House  of 
Hate  or  a  House  of  Love,  and  no  one  should  remain  in 
a  House  of  Hate,  and  no  child  should  be  brought  up 
there. 

No  doubt,  if  Edna  and  I  had  been  living  under  the 
same  roof  the  idea  of  divorce  would  have  taken  form, 
actively  definite  form,  long  before.  But  we  had  no 
home  to  be  a  House  of  Hate.  We  did  not  hate  each 
other;  we  bored  each  other.  And  as  we  were  not  poor, 
we  lived  far  enough  apart  not  to  annoy  each  other  in 
the  least.  I  cheerfully  paid  any  ransom  she  exacted 
for  leaving  me  free — and  you  may  be  sure  she  was  not 
inexpensive.  She  had  her  own  fortune — and  it  gave 
her  quite  an  income — but  she  husbanded  that.  She  in 
sisted  upon  state  and  equipage,  not  to  mention  such 
small  matters  as  stockings  at  fifty  dollars  a  pair  and 
chemises  at  three  hundred  dollars  apiece — for,  she 
knew  how  lovely  she  was  and  demanded  for  her  beauti 
ful  body  the  most  beautiful  garments  that  could  be  de 
vised  by  French  ingenuity  at  combining  cost  and  sim 
plicity.  I  was — by  instinct  rather  than  by  avowed 
principles — thoroughly  old-fashioned  in  my  family 
ideas.  Indeed,  I  still  am ;  and  I  say  this  with  no  apol 
ogy.  It  may  be  that  woman  will  some  day  develop  an 
other  and  higher  sphere  for  herself.  But  first  she 
would  do  well — in  my  humbly  heretical  opinion — to 
learn  to  fill  the  sphere  she  now  rattles  round  in  like 
one  dry  pea  in  a  ten-gallon  can.  I  want  to  see  a  few 
more  women  up  to  the  modern  requirements  for  wife 
and  mother.  I  want  to  see  a  few  more  women  making 
a  living  without  using  their  sex  charms — a,  few  less 


THE   PIUSBAND'S   STORY 

'tending  the  typewriter  with  one  eye  while  the  other  and 
busier  is  on  the  lookout  for  a  husband.  I  believe  in 
emancipation  of  women — in  votes  for  women — in  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  The  one  and  only  way  to  learn  to  swim 
is  in  the  water.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  woman  the 
irresponsible,  woman  the  cozener  and  milker  of  man, 
woman  the  dead  weight  upon  man,  and  drawing  the 
pay  of  a  housewife  and  shirking  all  a  housewife's 
duties.  So,  you  see,  I  am  the  friend  of  woman — not 
of  woman's  vanity  and  laziness  and  passion  for  para- 
siteism,  but  of  woman's  education  and  self-respect  and 
independence. 

I  was  thoroughly  old-fashioned.  My  notion  of  wife 
was  the  independent,  self-respecting  equal  of  her  hus 
band.  That  is,  I  had  the  typical  American  husband's 
ideal — the  ideal  that  dates  from  the  pioneer  days  of 
no  property  and  of  labor  for  all,  the  ideal  the  Ameri 
can  man  still  lives  up  to,  the  one  that  enables  woman 
to  betray  him.  And,  having  this  ideal,  I  never  permitted 
myself — no,  not  even  when  I  spoke  to  her  the  contrary 
in  words — I  never  permitted  myself  to  feel  that  my 
wife  was  not  in  the  main  what  she  should  be. 

If  you  have  borne  me  company  thus  far,  gentle 
reader,  turn  away  now.  For,  dreadful  things  are  com 
ing.  I  said  to  Armitage :  "  Your  sister — she's  still  in 
the  country  ?  " 

"  No,  she's  abroad,"  replied  he.  "  She's  visiting 
friends  in  Budapest.  Later  on  she's  to  yacht  in  the 
East  Mediterranean — she  and  the  Horace  Armstrongs 
and  Beechman — and — "  He  gave  several  names  I  do 
not  now  recall. 

315 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Is  she  engaged  to  Beechman  ?  "  I  asked  carelessly, 
but  the  question  was  not  one  that  could  sound  other 
than  raw. 

He  smiled — an  expression  I  did  not  like.  At  first 
I  thought  it  a  rebuke  to  my  impertinence.  Afterwards 
I  saw  no  such  notion  was  in  his  mind.  "  Beechman? 
Good  Lord,  no." 

"  You  are  sure?  " 

"  Absolute.  He'd  not  dare  go  in  that  direction  with 
her." 

"Why  not?"  said  I. 

"  Oh — well — you  see —  She  doesn't  care  for  him," 
replied  Armitage  lamely.  I  was  not  liking  him  so  well, 
now  that  I  knew  the  world — his  world — better  and  could 
judge  its  beliefs  and  its  hypocrisies  more  accurately. 

"  He's  an  unusual  man,"  said  I.  "  She  might  easily 
care  for  him." 

"  Well,  she  doesn't,"  retorted  he  irritably.  "  I  hap 
pen  to  know  she  doesn't." 

I  was  convinced.  Armitage's  tone  said  in  effect  that 
he  had  heard  the  rumor,  had  questioned  her,  had  been 
assured  that  there  was  no  basis  for  it. 

So,  she  was  abroad — five  or  six  days  away.  I  could 
not  go  to  her  and  make  a  beginning.  Would  I  have 
gone  if  she  had  been  within  reach?  I  do  not  know.  I 
rather  think  not.  As  I  have  said,  I  was  old-fashioned; 
and  the  sort  of  love  I  felt  for  her,  and  my  sense  of  what 
she  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  first  man  she  had 
trusted  would  have  made  me  wait,  I  hope,  until  I  was 
free.  Still,  love  is  insidiously  compelling.  Who  can  say 
what  love  would  or  would  not  beguile  or  goad  him  into 

316 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

doing?  The  old-fashioned  man,  always  reminding  him 
self  that  women  haven't  an  equal  chance  with  men,  was 
inclined  to  be  considerate  in  his  dealings  with  a  woman. 
The  new-fashioned  man  lets  her  look  out  for  herself.  I 
am  not  sure  that  he  is  wrong.  Perhaps  some  who  have 
read  thus  far  will  guess  the  reason  for  my  doubt. 

You  may  imagine  how  impatiently  I  waited  for  Edna 
to  arrive.  I  am  afraid  Rossiter  found  me  difficult  in 
those  intervening  days.  Only  the  weak  sort  of  men  and 
women  are  easy  for  an  intelligent  person  to  live  with. 
Men  and  women  of  positive  character  have  their  impos 
sible  moods.  I  made  this  remark  to  Mary  Kirkwood  on 
that  yachting  trip  in  the  Sound.  And  her  quick  answer 
was :  "  Yes,  that's  true.  But  everything  worth  while  is 
difficult.  Weathering  the  stormy  days  would  have  its 
compensations — and  more."  What  a  woman !  No  won 
der  I  loved  her. 

When  Edna  finally  arrived 

What  an  arrival  it  was!  She  was  attended  by  two 
maids,  one  French,  the  other  Italian.  She  had  trained 
them — she  and  their  former  fashionable  mistresses — to 
treat  her  as  if  she  was  a  royal  person,  requiring  the  most 
minute  assistance,  incapable  even  of  ascertaining  for 
herself  whether  it  was  daylight  or  dark,  rain  or  shine. 
She  was  clad  in  the  latest  Paris  fashions,  adapted  and 
improved  for  her  own  especial  charms.  She  wore  much 
jewelry,  but  nothing  noisy.  There  never  was  anything 
noisy  about  her — any  more  than  there  is  about  a  burst 
of  sunshine  that  fills  and  floods  the  whole  place,  per 
meating  everywhere  and  dominating  everything.  She 
talked  by  turns  in  English — with  a  superb  British  accent 
21  317 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

— in  French  that  sounded  Parisian  and  in  Italian  that 
seemed  as  liquid  and  swift  as  the  Italian  maid's.  It  was 
a  vast  ship,  and  there  were  about  a  thousand  passengers, 
and  much  luggage.  To  me,  to  all  on  the  pier  that  day, 
there  seemed  to  be  but  one  landing  and  but  one  lot  of 
luggage. 

How  many  trunks  had  she?  Heaven  only  knows. 
The  customs  people  were  glad  to  expedite  her  after  a 
glance  at  the  exhibit  imposing  both  in  extent  and  in 
costliness.  She  affected  a  delightful,  most  aristocratic 
unconsciousness  of  the  stir  she  was  making,  of  the  ex 
cited  admiration  of  men,  of  the  gaping  or  jeering  envy 
of  women.  Yes,  it  was  a  great  day,  and  as  I  accom 
panied  her  in  the  auto  to  the  Plaza,  I  felt  dowdy  and 
insignificant — felt  like  a  humble  male  menial,  a  courier 
or  valet. 

"  I  did  not  fully  appreciate  your  magnificence,"  said 
I,  "  until  I  saw  you  on  these  humble  shores." 

"  It  is  shocking  here — isn't  it  ?  "  said  she.  "  So  in 
complete,  so  crude.  No  wonder  the  ideals  are  low.  The 
surroundings  give  no  inspiration." 

"  None — except  for  work,"  said  I.  "  It's  a  land 
for  working  people  only.  No  doubt  you'll  be  going  back 
soon?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can,"  replied  she.  With  a  friendly 
but  not  tender  smile :  "  As  soon  as  you'll  let  me." 

The  absence  of  her  customary  effusiveness  confirmed 
my  theory  of  her  coming.  I  had  thought  all  out  with 
the  utmost  care.  I  felt  it  would  be  in  every  way  unwise 
to  let  her  see  that  I  was  eager  for  the  divorce.  She 
must  open  the  subject.  It  had  ever  been  my  rule,  when 

SIS 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  wanted  anything1,  so  to  maneuver  that  the  other  per-  * 
son  should  propose  the  exchange.     It  is  the  rule  of  sue-   < 
cessful  operation  in  every  department  of  life.     There 
fore,  adhering  strictly  to  my  prearranged  programme, 
I  could  only  sit  tight  and  wait. 

How  she  tried  my  patience !  I  was  mad  to  have  the 
preliminaries  over,  to  have  the  divorce  under  way — mad, 
not  with  the  hysterical  impatience  of  those  short-sighted 
people  who  mess  their  purposes  through  lack  of  self- 
restraint,  but  with  the  white-hot  repressed  patience  of 
those  who  have  their  way  in  this  world.  Day  followed 
day,  and  she  did  not  speak.  I  gave  up  the  evenings 
and  a  large  part  of  the  afternoons  to  her.  I  stayed  on 
after  dinner  until  there  was  no  further  excuse  for  linger 
ing.  I  listened  to  her  interminable  recital  of  fashionable 
names,  dates,  gossip,  adventure.  A  week  of  this,  and 
just  as  my  fortitude  was  wearing  itself  out  and  I  had 
begun  to  debate  opening  the  sub j  ect  myself,  she  said : 

"  I've  been  down  looking  at  our  house.  Really  it's 
not  half  bad.  Why  shouldn't  we  open  it  ?  " 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Was  I  mistaken  in  her 
purpose  in  coming?  Or  was  this  proposal  to  open  the 
house  the  clever  move  of  a  clever  gamester  to  force  me 
to  speak  first? 

"  This  lovely  weather !  "  she  went  on.  "  It's  a  shame 
'such  a  climate  should  be  wasted  upon  such  a  vulgar  city. 
When  I  think  of  the  dreadful  rains  that  infest  Paris  and 
the  rains  and  fogs  of  London —  How  they  would  glory 
in  this  sun  and  sparkling  air." 

To  my  notion  New  York  was  vastly  more  attractive 
than  dreary  London  or  rainy,  sloppy  Paris.  But  I  made 

319 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

no  defense  of  New  York.  I  wished  her  to  think  it  crude 
and  tiresome. 

"  And  the  fashionable  society  here,"  she  went  on. 
"  What  a  silly  copy  of  the  real  thing  over  there !  " 

"  It  must  remind  you  of  Passaic,"  said  I. 

She  visibly  shivered. 

I  was  suddenly  seized  of  a  base  inspiration.  In  my 
despair  I  did  not  hesitate.  Said  I :  "  That  reminds  me. 
We  must  go  over  to  see  the  old  people." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  murmured.     "  I'm  so  neglectful." 

I  felt — I  saw — that  I  was  on  the  right  track  at  last. 
"  When  will  you  go?  "  I  persisted.  "  Next  Sunday?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  she  faintly. 

"  Yes,  we'll  go  Sunday.  They  fret  because  you  never 
write." 

"  They  are  well?  " 

"  In  splendid  health.  There's  no  reason  why  all  four 
of  them  shouldn't  outlive  us." 

"You — you  go  often?"  she  faltered. 

"  I  haven't  been  for  some  time,"  said  L  "  You  see, 
I've  been  away.  ...  If  we  opened  the  house,  we  could 
have  them  visit  us.  That  would  make  up  to  them  for 
the  way  we've  acted." 

She  gazed  at  me  in  large-eyed  horror.  Suddenly  she 
smiled  with  patient  scorn  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  Oh,  I  had  forgotten  your  passion  for  jesting." 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  I — and  I  was  indeed  in  the 
full  flood  of  a  virtuous  penitence  whose  hypocrisy  I  did 
not  detect  until  I  was  thinking  about  the  matter  after 
wards.  You,  gentle  reader,  would  in  the  same  circum 
stances  never  have  permitted  yourself  to  discover  the 

320 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

hypocrisy.  I  went  on :  "  I'm  ashamed  of  the  way  I've 
acted." 

"  They've  got  everything  they  need  or  want,"  said 
Edna. 

"  Material  comfort,"  replied  I.  "  But  haven't 
parents  a  right  to  expect  something  more?  And  now. 
that  our  social  position  is  secure,  we've  no  excuse  for 
acting  snobbishly." 

I  enjoyed  this  virtuous  talk  for  itself;  still  more,  I 
enjoyed  teasing  her.  Her  delicate,  refined,  ladylike 
nerves  were  aristocratically  sensitive.  Have  you  ob 
served  that  peculiarity  of  lady  nerves  ?  A  lady  will  live 
with  the  most  shocking  husband  for  luxury.  She  will 
endure  the  most  degrading  humiliations  to  get  dresses, 
jewels,  motor  cars.  She  will  crawl  in  the  dirt  to  gain 
or  to  improve  social  position.  She  will,  without  a  quiver, 
kiss  her  worst  enemy,  cut  her  dearest  friends,  in  the 
furtherance  of  any  ladylike  purpose.  But  talk  to  her 
of  self-respecting  independence,  of  earning  her  own  liv 
ing,  or  of  any  of  the  homely  decencies  of  life — of  her 
ignorant  old  parents  or  unsightly  poor  relatives — and 
what  a  fairy  princess  of  high-strung  nerves  she  straight 
way  becomes.  Yes,  Edna  was  a  lady — a  perfect  lady, 
as  perfect  as  if  she  had  been  born  to  it. 

To  my  surprise  I  had  daunted  her  only  for  the  day ; 
the  following  afternoon  she  began  again.  "  This  heav- 
emy  weather !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  tempts  me  to  stay 
on  and  on." 

"  I  hope  it  will  last  over  Sunday,"  said  I. 

She  ignored  the  shaft,  and  went  on  with  undimin- 
ished  enthusiasm :  "  And  really  New  York  has  improved. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

In  some  respects  it  can  be  compared  to  Paris — though, 
of  course,  it  has  no  background.  A  city  can  be  built  in 
a  generation  or  so.  But  to  build  up  the  country — that 
takes  centuries." 

"  It's  building  up  rapidly,"  said  I.  "  You'll  be  as 
tonished  Sunday  by  the  change  down  where  the  old  folks 
are.  The  Fosdicks  have  bought  up  twenty  farms  or  so, 
and  are  making  a  park.  I  saw  Amy  Siersdorf  not  long 
ago  and  she  spoke  of  having  stopped  at  father's  place 
and  got  milk  and  corn  bread." 

"The  fluffy  little  cat,"  said  Edna,  not  especially 
ruffled.  "  I  shall  snub  her  the  first  time  we  meet.  But 
I  was  about  to  speak  of  our  house.  I  am  arranging  to 
open  it.  Of  course,  Margot  can't  come  over  this  winter, 
but  I  don't  really  need  her.  We  owe  it  to  our  friends 
here  to  do  something  socially.  I  want  to  stop  the  gossip." 

"The  gossip?  "said  I. 

"  The  talk  because  we  are  not  living  together.  It 
isn't  dangerous,  but  it's  uncomfortable.  I  believe  people 
like  us  ought  to  maintain  the  best  social  traditions — 
ought  to  set  a  good  example  to  the  lower  classes." 

"  Oh,  bother !  "  said  I  as  good-humoredly  as  I  could. 
"  We'll  do  as  we  please.  Otherwise,  where's  the  use  in 
having  money  ?  " 

A  pause  which  I  felt  was  hopeful.  Edna  said  with 
affected  carelessness:  "  You  don't  think  people  have  a 
right  to — to  divorce?  " 

At  last !  My  intuition  had  been  correct !  "  Why 
not  ?  "  replied  I,  my  tone  as  casual  as  hers.  "  Certainly, 
if  they  wish." 

A  long  silence.     Then  she :  "  Sometimes  I  feel  that 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

way  myself.  When  two  people  find  that  they're  uncon 
genial,  that  they'd  be  better  off — happier — if  free  to  go 
their  separate  ways  and  to  realize  to  the  full  their  own 
ideals  of  life—  Why  not?" 

"  Precisely  my  view,"  said  I. 

Again  a  long  silence.  She  finally  said :  "  Has  it  ever 
occurred  to  you,  Godfrey,  that  you  and  I  might  be  better 
off— apart?" 

I  laughed.  "  It's  a  good  many  years  now  since  we 
were  together,"  replied  I.  "  We  might  as  well  be  di 
vorced  as  living  the  way  we  do." 

"  It's  because  I've  been  feeling  those  very  things, 
that  I've  come  back,"  said  she.  "  It  seemed  to  me  that, 
now  I've  fulfilled  my  duty  to  Margot,  I  ought  to  do  my 
duty  to  you." 

"  That's  like  you,"  said  I.  "  For  you  life  is  one 
long  sacrifice." 

If  she  scented  irony  she  dissembled  well.  "  Sacrifice 
is  the  woman's  part,"  replied  she  sweetly. 

"  No  doubt,"  I  went  on,  "  you're  willing  to  stay  here 
where  you're  unhappy,  and  for  my  sake  to  jam  the 
house  night  after  night  with  people  you  care  nothing 
about,  and  disport  yourself  in  splendor  to  make  the 
world  envy  me.  I  appreciate  your  nobility  of  character, 
but  I  positively  can't  allow  it." 

"  We  must  do  our  duty,"  said  she.  "  Society  ex 
pects  certain  things  of  us,  and  we  must  do  them." 

"  Not  I,  my  dear.  Open  the  house  if  you  like.  But 
I  stick  to  my  bachelor  apartment." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  back  to  Europe?  "  said  she 
with  a  fine  show  of  quiet  melancholy. 

323 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  want  you  to  do  as  you  please,"  was  my  answer. 

"  But  unless  I  stay  here,  and  you  and  I  take  our 
place  in  society  together,  I — "  She  hesitated.  "  Now 
that  Margot  is  settled,"  she  went  on  desperately,  "  I  am 
adrift.  And — Godfrey,  we  can't  go  on  as  we  are." 

"  I  see  that,"  said  I.     "  What  do  you  propose?  " 

"  To  stay  in  New  York,"  replied  she,  with  the 
promptness  of  the  skilled  fencer.  "  To  stay  here  and 
be  the  mistress  of  your  establishment." 

"  My  establishment  is  an  apartment  at  Sherry's." 

"  But  that's  impossible !  "  remonstrated  she. 

"  Be  calm,  my  dear.  I  don't  ask  you  to  lead  my 
kind  of  life." 

"  Then — what  do  you  propose  ?  "  ventured  she. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  settled  myself  more 
comfortably  in  her  luxurious  motor.  I  gazed  with  ab 
sorbed  interest  at  the  bunch  of  orchids  in  the  flower- 
holder. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  continue  neither  free  nor 
bound,"  pursued  she. 

"  Whatever  you  like,"  said  I.  "  Only — no  fashion 
able  capering  for  me." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  get  a  divorce,  Godfrey?  "  said 
she. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  happy,"  said  I.  "  Divorce  has 
no  terrors  for  me.  Aren't  we  practically  divorced 
already  ?  " 

"  That's  true,"  said  she.  "  We  never  did  have  much 
in  common."  Then  she  reddened — for,  she  could  not 
quite  forget  those  first  days  of  our  married  life,  before  I 
got  the  money  to  feed  her  ambition.  "  You  make  me 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

feel  as  if  you  were  a — no,  not  a  stranger,  but  only  a 
friend." 

"  And  we  are  friends,"  said  I  heartily.  "  And  al 
ways  shall  be."  For  I  was  beginning  to  like  her,  to  take 
the  amiably  indifferent  outsider's  view  of  her,  now  that 
she  was  freeing  me. 

"  Godfrey,  do  you  want  to  marry  again  ?  "  she  asked 
with  a  sudden  shrewd  look  straight  into  my  eyes. 

I  laughed  easily.  "  That  question  might  better 
come  from  me,"  said  I.  "  You  will  never  be  happy,  I 
suppose,  until  you  are  the  Duchess  or  Princess  Some- 
thing-or-other." 

A  flush  stole  over  her  small  sweet  face,  making  it 
lovelier  than  ever.  "  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing," 
she  protested — but  too  energetically. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  I.  "  You've  dreamed  it  for  years. 
Be  honest  with  me,  Edna." 

"  How  could  I  dream  it  ?  "  replied  she.  "  It  would 
take  an  awful  lot  of  money." 

"  You  have  quite  a  bunch,"  said  I.  "  And  if  we 
parted,  naturally  I'd  give  you  more." 

Once  again — but  this  time  slowly — the  searching 
gaze  turned  upon  me. 

I  bore  it  well.  "  You  can't  live  as  I  live,"  I  went  on. 
"  I  won't  live  as  you  live.  You  say  that  means  divorce. 
I  don't  think  so.  Many  rich  American  couples  live 
apart  without  divorce.  I  believe  usually  the  reason  is 
the  wife  has  found  she  couldn't  get  a  large  enough  slice 
of  the  husband's  fortune,  if  she  divorced  him.  Still,  for 
whatever  reason,  they  stay  married.  You  don't  like  the 
idea.  So  I  say,  if  you  want  to  go  I'll  give  you  as  much  as. 


TPIE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  gave  Margot — in  addition  to  what  you  already  have — 
and  my  blessing.  I've  some  sentiment  about  the  past, 
but  it  is  as  a  past." 

"  I  am — stunned,"  said  she.  And  I  think  her  vanity 
was. 

"  It's  what  you  want?  "  rejoined  I. 

"  You  put  me  in  a  hard  position,  Godfrey.  You 
give  me  no  alternative  but  to  accept." 

"  I  am  a  hard  man,"  said  I  suavely. 

"  You  are  really  willing  to  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  You  expected  to  have  a  difficult  time  persuading 
me  ?  "  laughed  I. 

She  looked  at  me  reproachfully.  "  Do  be  serious, 
Godfrey,  about  these  serious  things." 

"  All  right.  What  do  you  say,  Edna  ?  Yes  or 
no?" 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think,"  replied  she.  "  This 
is  a  very  solemn  moment." 

"  Why  fake?  "  said  I  pleasantly.  "  You  have  it  all 
thought  out." 

"  It  is  solemn  to  me,  Godfrey." 

"  There's  nothing  solemn  about  our  married  life. 
It's  a  farce." 

But  she  was  searching  for  confirmation  of  her  fear 
of  some  kind  of  trap.  "  You  really  mean  that  you  wish 
to  free  me?  "  she  said. 

"  I  mean  precisely  what  I  say,"  replied  I.  "  Free 
dom  and  the  cash  are  yours  for  the  asking.  But  you 
must  ask,  my  dear.  I'll  not  have  any  more  of  your 
favorite  comedy  of  making  yourself  out  a  martyr." 

"  You  don't  know  how  you  hurt  me,"  cried  she. 
326 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  But  you  always  have  hurt  me — always.  I  know — " 
very  gently — "  that  you  didn't  mean  to,  but  you  haven't 
understood." 

"  I  did  my  best,"  said  I,  with  the  pleasant  smile  of 
which  she  was  so  intolerant.  "  But  what  can  be  ex 
pected  of  a  plain,  coarse  materialist  of  a  business  man?  " 

"  Yet  you  are  generous  in  many  ways,"  mused  she. 
"  It's  simply  that  you  can't  understand  me." 

"  Perhaps  it's  you  that  don't  understand  me"  said  I. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  she. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  I  replied  carelessly.  How  hope  to 
make  a  vain  woman,  obsessed  of  the  notion  that  she  has 
a  profound  and  mysterious  soul  when  she  simply  has  a 
fog-bank — how  hope  to  make  her  see  the  truth  about 
herself?  "  It  isn't  worth  explaining.  Only — -when  you 
are  free  and  you  find  some  one  who  appreciates  and  sym 
pathizes  with  that  soul  of  yours,  be  careful  to  pay  him 
well,  and  to  keep  on  paying.  You  can  always  be  flat 
tered  and  fooled,  if  you  pay  for  it.  But  if  you  don't 
pay —  Look  out.  You  may  hear  the  truth." 

"  What  a  cynic  you  are !  "  she  cried.  "  Thank  God, 
I  haven't  your  low  views  of  life." 

"  Keep  your  views,  by  all  means,"  said  I.  "  But 
don't  forget  my  advice.  You  are  lovely.  You  are 
charming.  You  dress  beautifully  and  have  good  taste. 
But  it's  the  money,  my  dear,  that  causes  the  excite 
ment  about  those  charms  and  graces.  Hold  on  to 
your  principal,  and  spend  your  income  freely  but 
judiciously." 

"  If  I  could  only  convince  you  that  there  is  some 
thing  beside  money  in  the  world." 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Not  for  those  to  whom  money  is  the  breath  of 
life,"  replied  I. 

When  we  returned  to  her  hotel  she  urged  me  to  come 
in  for  tea.  We  went  into  the  greenroom,  to  listen  to 
the  music  and  to  observe  the  crowds.  There  was  a 
sprinkling  of  men,  but  two  thirds  were  women — women 
of  all  classes  and  conditions,  above  the  working  class. 
Women  obviously  fashionable  as  well  as  rich.  Women 
obviously  only  rich.  Women  living  off  men  respect 
ably.  Women  "  trimming  "  here  and  there.  An  army 
of  pretty  women — well-cared-for  bodies,  attractive  faces, 
inviting  the  various  kinds  of  sensual  attack  from  the 
subtlest  to  the  frankest.  This  woman  at  the  next  table 
is  rather  cheaply  dressed,  except  a  gorgeous  hat.  That 
woman  yonder  has  contrived  to  "  trim  "  only  a  hand 
some  set  of  furs ;  it  looks  grotesque  with  the  rest  of  the 
costume.  A  third  has  a  huge  gilt  bag  as  her  sole  claim 
to  sisterhood  with  the  throng  of  fair  pampered  parasites 
upon  husbands,  fathers,  lovers.  A  charming  and  a  use 
less  throng.  No,  not  charming,  unless  a  man  happens 
to  be  in  the  mood  in  which  he  succumbs  to  the  trimming 
process  with  pleasure — and  then,  he  would  not  think 
them  altogether  useless. 

"  New  York  grows  more  and  more  like  Europe," 
said  my  wife,  gazing  around  with  shining  eyes,  and  in 
haling  the  heavily  scented  atmosphere  with  dilating 
nostrils.  "  More  and  more  like  Europe." 

"  More  and  more,"  replied  I.  "  Especially  the 
women." 

"  Oh,  they're  ahead  of  the  European  women,"  said 
she. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  So  they  are,"  said  I.  "  Yes — they  beat  the  Euro 
pean  women  at  it.  But  I'm  not  sure  whether  that's 
because  they  are  really  cleverer,  or  merely  because  our 
men  trim  more  readily." 

She  regarded  me  with  an  expression  of  mildly  inter 
ested  perplexity,  as  if  she  couldn't  imagine  what  was  the 
"  it  "  I  was  talking  about.  "  You  must  admit  they  are 
lovely,"  said  she. 

"  Admit  it?  "  said  I.  "  I  proclaim  it.  If  a  man's 
notion  of  dinner  is  only  the  dessert,  he  couldn't  do 
better." 

She  looked  still  more  vague — one  of  her  tricks  when 
she  wished  to  avoid  or  to  ignore.  "  I  never  touch  des 
serts,"  said  she. 

As  I  was  leaving — for  we  were  not  dining  together 
that  evening — she  said: 

"  I  shall  think  about  your  proposal." 

I  looked  straight  at  her.  "  Tell  me  whether  you  will 
or  will  not  confirm  your  own  proposal,"  said  I.  "  And 
don't  delay  too  long.  Unfinished  business  makes  me 
nervous." 

She  returned  my  look  with  quiet  composure.  "  I 
shall  let  you  know  to-morrow,"  said  she. 


AMONG  my  acquaintances,  both  in  and  out  of  fash 
ionable  society,  there  were  not  a  few  jealous  husbands. 
I  knew  one  man  who,  in  the  evening,  made  his  wife  ac 
count  for  every  moment  of  the  day,  and  tell  him  in  de 
tail  how  she  was  going  to  spend  the  following  day,  and 
during  business  hours  he  called  up  irregularly  on  the 
telephone.  He  was  not  content  with  the  effective  sys 
tem  of  espionage  which  a  retinue  of  servants  automat 
ically  establishes.  Another  man — to  give  a  typical  in 
stance  of  each  of  the  two  types — hired  detectives  from 
time  to  time  to  watch  his  wife  living  abroad  "  for  her 
health  and  to  educate  her  children."  In  a  decently  or 
dered  society  this  sort  of  jealousy  is  rare.  Only  where 
the  women  are  luxuriously  supported  parasites  and  the 
men  are  attaching  but  the  one  value  to  the  women — the 
only  value  they  possess  for  them — only  there  do  you  find 
this  defiling  jealousy  the  rule  instead  of  the  exception. 
Naturally,  if  the  woman  is  mere  property  the  man  guards 
her  as  he  guards  the  rest  of  his  material  possessions ;  and 
the  woman  who  consents  to  be  mere  property  probably 
needs  guarding-  if  she  has  qualities  of  desirability  dis 
coverable  by  other  eyes  than  those  of  her  overprizing 
owner. 

This  jealousy  was  in  the  air  of  the  offices  and  clubs 
330 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  frequented.  But  it  had  somehow  or  other  never  in 
fected  me.  Was  I  occupied  too  deeply  with  other  mat 
ters?  Was  I  indifferent?  Did  my  own  disinclination  to 
dalliance  make  me  slow  to  appreciate  the  large  part  dal 
liance  now  plays  in  American  life?  I  do  not  know  why 
I  was  free  from  jealousy.  I  only  know  that  never  once 
had  my  mind  been  shadowed  by  a  sinister  thought  as  to 
what  my  wife  might  be  about,  far  away  and  free.  Pos 
sibly  my  knowledge  of  her  absorption  in  social  ambition 
kept  me  quiet.  Certainly  a  woman  whose  whole  mind 
and  heart  are  set  upon  social  climbing  is  about  the  last 
person  a  seeker  for  dalliance  would  invest. 

I  had  never  heard  a  word  or  a  hint  of  a  scandal  about 
her — for  the  best  of  reasons ;  she  did  nothing  to  cause 
that  kind  of  talk.  But,  how  curious  is  coincidence !  On 
the  very  evening  of  the  day  of  our  divorce  discussion 
Edna  had  her  first  experience  of  scandal,  and  I  immedi 
ately  knew  of  it.  After  leaving  her  I  went  to  the  Federal 
Club,  where  I  often  took  a  hand  in  a  rather  stiff  game  of 
bridge  before  dinner.  I  drifted  into  the  reading  room, 
glanced  idly  at  the  long  row  of  current  magazines.  In 
full  view  lay  the  weekly  purveyor  of  social  news,  a  paper 
I  had  not  looked  at  half  a  dozen  times  in  my  life,  and 
then  only  because  some  one  had  asked  me  to  read  a  par 
ticular  paragraph.  The  week's  issue  of  this  scandal  j 
monger  had  just  come  in.  I  threw  back  the  cover,  let  my 
glance  drop  upon  the  page.  I  was  hardly  aware  that  I 
was  reading — for  my  thoughts  were  elsewhere — when  I 
became  vaguely  conscious  that  the  print  had  some  rela 
tion  to  me.  I  reread  it;  it  was  a  veiled  attack  upon 
Edna.  All  unsuspected  by  her  husband — so  the  story 

331 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ran — she  had  come  to  America  to  divorce  him  that  she 
might  marry  a  German  nobleman  of  almost  royal  rank. 
A  voice  close  beside  me  said : 

"  What  is  it  amuses  you  so  in  that  dirty  sheet?  " 

It  was  Armitage.  I  started  guiltily.  Then  my 
common  sense  asserted  itself,  and  I  pointed  to  the  para 
graph.  When  he  had  read  it  I  said : 

"  Who's  the  German  ?  I'm  not  well  enough  up  on 
the  nobility  to  be  able  to  guess,  though  it's  probably 
plainly  told." 

"  The  Count  von  Biestrich,"  said  he. 

"  Thanks,"  said  I,  no  wiser  than  before,  and  we  went 
up  to  play  bridge. 

A  year  or  so  before  I  might  possibly  have  talked 
freely  with  Armitage ;  but  the  day  of  our  closest  intimacy 
had  passed.  He  was  still  my  intimate  friend ;  I  was  his 
— with  several  large  reservations.  Why?  Chiefly  be 
cause  when  he  passed  the  critical  age  his  mind  took  the 
turn  for  the  worse.  At  forty  to  forty-five  a  man  begins 
to  reap  his  harvest.  Armitage  had  many  and  varied 
interests,  but  the  one  that  affected  his  nature  most  pro 
foundly  was  women.  He  mocked  at  them ;  he  was  always 
inventing  or  relating  stories  about  them  of  the  more  or 
less  gamey  sort.  But,  somewhat  like  his  pretensions  of 
disdain  for  birth  and  fashion,  his  wordy  scorn  of  women 
concealed  a  slavish  weakness  for  them.  After  forty  this 
began  to  disclose  itself  in  his  features.  Their  handsome 
intellectuality  began  to  be  marred  by  a  sensual  heavi 
ness  ;  and  presently  his  wit  degenerated  toward  a  repel 
lent  coarseness.  It  takes  delicate  juggling  to  make  filth 
attractive.  After  forty  a  man  does  well  to  be  careful 

332 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

how  he  attempts  it ;  for,  after  forty,  the  hand  loses  its 
lightness.  I  rather  avoided  Armitage;  not  that  I  was 
squeamish,  but  my  sense  of  humor  somehow  rarely  has 
responded  to  rude  rootings  and  pawings  in  the  garbage 
barrel. 

About  an  hour  after  dinner  Edna  called  me  to  the 
telephone  and  asked  me  to  come  to  her.  I  found  her  in 
high  excitement,  her  color  vivid,  her  manner  nervous 
beyond  its  natural  vivacity  even  as  now  expanded  upon 
the  best  Continental  models.  "  I  got  rid  of  my  guests," 
said  she,  "  and  sent  for  you  as  soon  as  I  could.  Have 
you  heard?  " 

"  About  von  Biestrich?  "  said  I. 

"  It  is  hideous ! — hideous !  "  she  cried.  "  I  who  have 
kept  my  name  unsullied — I  who  have " 

"  I'm  sure  of  that,"  I  interrupted.  "  I'm  dead  tired 
and,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go  home." 

She  caught  me  by  the  arm.  "  Godfrey,  you  think 
this  was  what  I  had  in  mind.  I  swear  to  you ' 

"  I'm  sure  you've  been  all  that  a  wife  is  expected  to 
be,"  said  I,  in  my  usual  manner  of  good-natured  rail 
lery.  "  And  I'm  also  sure  you  would  wait  until  you 
were  free,  and  would  deliberate  very  carefully  before 
deciding " 

"  Godfrey,  how  can  you !  "  cried  she,  in  her  most  ex 
aggerated  tone  for  outraged  spirituality.  "  Have  you 
no  heart  ?  Have  you  no  respect  for  me — your  wife,  the 
mother  of  your  daughter?  " 

"  Have  I  not  said  I  did  not  suspect  you?  "  remon^ 
strated  I.     "  Why  so  agitated,  my  dear?    Do  you  wish 
to  make  me  begin  to  suspect?  " 
22  333 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

She  shrank  and  began  to  cool  down.  "  I've  never 
had  such  an  experience  before,"  she  apologized.  "  I 
don't  know  how  to  take  it." 

"  It's  nothing — nothing,"  I  declared. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that  if  I  were  free 
I  should  not  consider  marrying  that  German." 

"  I  believe  you."  I  put  out  a  friendly  hand.  "  Good 
night." 

"  This  ends  all  talk  of  divorce,"  said  she. 

I  dropped  my  hand.  "  I  don't  see  that  the  situation 
is  changed  in  the  least." 

"  That's  because  you  are  not  a  woman,"  replied  she. 
"  You  can't  appreciate  how  I  feel." 

"  You  wished  to  be  free  before  this  paragraph  ap 
peared.  You  still  wish  to  be  free." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  be  so  insensible !  "  cried  she,  all 
unstrung  again  and,  I  could  not  but  see,  genuinely  so. 
"  I  never  could  face  the  scandal  of  a  divorce.  I  didn't 
realize.  It  would  kill  me.  How  did  Hilda  face  it? 
— and  all  these  other  nice  women?  I  should  hide  and 
never  show  my  face  again." 

She  was  agitating  me  so  wildly  that  I  felt  I  could 
not  much  longer  conceal  it.  "  I  must  go,"  said  I,  pre 
tending  to  yawn.  "  Sleep  on  it.  Perhaps  to-morrow 
you'll  feel  differently." 

She  tried  to  detain  me,  but  I  broke  away  and  fled. 
To  be  almost  free  and  then  to  have  freedom  snatched 
away !  Not  out  of  reach,  but  where  it  can  be  reached 
easily  if  one  will  simply  stretch  out  his  hand  somewhat 
ruthlessly.  By  no  means  so  ruthless  as  my  wife  had 
been  a  score  of  times  in  gaining  her  ends  without  regard 

334 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  me.  Why  not  be  ruthless  ?  Had  she  not  been  ruth 
less?  Had  she  not  given  me  the  right  to  compel  her  to 
free  me'?  More,  did  she  not  herself  wish  to  be  free? 
And  was  she  not  now  restrained,  not  by  consideration  for 
me,  not  by  any  decent  instinct  whatsoever,  but  solely  by 
a  snobbish  groveling  fear  of  public  opinion? — a  sense 
less  fear,  too? 

We  are  constantly  criticising  people — by  way  of  jj 
'patting  ourselves  on  the  back — because  they  take  what  "< 
I  they  want  regardless  of  the  feelings  of  others.  A  form  i 

(of  self-righteousness  as  shameless  as  common ;  for  we  | 
happen  not  to  fancy  the  things  they  show  themselves 
inconsiderate  and  swinish  about.  But — when  we  really 
do  want  a  thing — what  then?  How  industrious  we  be 
come  in  appeal  to  conscience — that  most  perfect  of 
courtiers — to  show  us  how  just  and  right  it  is  that  we 
should  have  this  thing  we  want !  Having  set  myself 
drastically  to  cure  self-fooling  years  before — when  first 
I  realized  how  dangerous  it  is  and  how  common  a  cause 
of  failure  and  ruin — I  was  unable  to  conceal  from  myself 
the  cruelty  of  forcing  Edna  to  divorce  me.  My  con 
science — as  sly  a  sophist  and  flatterer  as  yours,  gentle 
reader — my  conscience  could  not  convince  me.  Cruel 
things  I  had  never  done — that  is,  not  directly.  Of 
course  I,  like  all  men  of  action,  had  again  and  again  been 
compelled  to  do  them  indirectly.  But  not  by  my  own  di 
rect  act  had  I  ever  made  any  human  being  suffer.  I 
would  not  begin  now.  I  would  not  commit  the  stupidity 
of  trying  to  found  my  happiness  upon  the  wretchedness 
of  another.  I  could  feel  the  withering  scorn  that  would 
blaze  in  Mary  Kirkwood's  honest  eyes  if  I  should  go 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

to  her  after  having  freed  myself  by  force,  and  she 
should  find  it  out.  I  see  your  sarcastic  smile,  gentle 
reader,  as  I  thus  ingenuously  confess  the  selfish  fear 
that  was  the  hidden  spring  of  my  virtue.  Your  smile 
betrays  your  shallowness.  If  you  knew  human  nature 
you  would  know  that  all  real  motives  are  selfish.  The 
differences  of  character  in  human  beings  are  not  differ 
ences  between  selfish  and  unselfish.  They  are  differences 
between  petty,  short-sighted  selfishness  and  broad,  far- 
sighted  selfishness. 

When  I  saw  Edna  again  she  was  still  wavering.  She 
had  come  to  America  with  her  mind  made  up  for  divorce, 
if  I  could  by  hook  or  by  crook  be  induced  to  consent. 
She  had  been  frightened  by  this  attack  upon  her — 
frightened  as  only  those  who  live  a  life  of  complete 
self-deception  can  be  frightened  by  a  sudden  and  public 
holding  up  of  the  mirror  to  reflect  their  naked  selves. 
She  was,  of  course,  easily  able  to  convince  herself  that 
her  own  motives  in  seeking  a  divorce  were  fine  and 
high  and  self-martyring.  But  she  could  now  see  no 
way  to  convince  others.  In  the  public  estimation  she 
saw  she  would  be  classed  with  Lady  Blankenship, 
with  Mrs.  Ramsdell,  with  all  the  other  women  who 
had  got  divorces  to  better  themselves  socially  or  finan 
cially. 

Instead  of  dying  out  the  scandal  grew.  The  daily 
papers  took  up  the  hints  in  the  society  journal's  veiled 
paragraph,  had  long  cabled  accounts  of  Count  von 
Biestrich,  of  his  attentions  to  Edna,  told  when  and 
where  they  had  been  guests  at  the  same  chateaus  and 
country  houses,  made  it  appear  that  they  had  been  no 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY      

better  than  they  should  be  for  nearly  a  year.  Edna 
was  prostrated. 

"  There's  only  one  answer  to  these  attacks,"  she  said 
to  me.  "  You  must  give  up  your  apartment  and  move 
to  this  hotel.  We  must  open  the  house  and  live  in  it 
together  and  entertain  together." 

I  was  not  unprepared.  I  had  threshed  out  the  whole 
matter  with  myself,  had  made  my  choice  between  the  two 
courses  open  to  me — or,  rather,  had  forced  myself  to  see 
the  truth  that  there  was  in  decency  but  the  one  course. 
"  Very  well,"  said  I  to  her — and  that  was  all. 

I  moved  to  the  Plaza  the  same  day ;  I  was  seen  con 
stantly  with  her ;  I  did  my  best  to  show  the  world  that 
all  was  serene  between  us.  In  fact,  if  you  saw  us 
during  those  scandal-clouded  days  you  may  have  thought 
us  a  couple  on  a  honeymoon.  Behind  the  scenes  we 
quarreled — about  anything,  about  everything,  about 
nothing — as  people  do  when  forced  to  play  in  public 
the  farce  of  billing  and  cooing  lovers.  Especially  if 
one  of  them  has  not  the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  sense  of 
humor.  But  in  public 

The  newspapers  soon  had  to  drop  their  campaign 
of  slander  by  insinuation. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  by  the  opening  of  the 
season  Edna  and  I  were  installed  in  the  big  house, 
decidedly  improved  now  thanks  to  the  collecting  both  of 
ideas  and  of  things  she  had  done  abroad.  And  we  were 
giving  all  kinds  of  parties,  with  me  taking  part  to  an 
extent  I  should  have  laughed  at  beforehand  as  impos 
sible.  She  had  become  so  irritating  to  me  that  the 
mere  sight  of  her  put  me  in  a  rage.  Have  you  ever 

337 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

been  forced  into  intimate  daily  contact  with  a  nature 
that  is  thoroughly  artificial — after  you  have  discovered 
its  artificiality,  its  lack  of  sincerity,  its  vanity  and  pre 
tense  and  sex  trickery?  There  is,  as  we  all  know,  in 
everyone  of  us  a  streak  of  artificiality,  of  self-con 
sciousness,  a  fondness  for  posing  to  seem  better  than  we 
are.  But  somewhere  beneath  the  pose  there  is  usually 
a  core  of  sincerity,  a  genuine  individuality,  perhaps  a 
poor  thing  but  still  a  real  thing.  It  may  be  there  was 
this  reality  somewhere  in  Edna.  I  can  only  say  that 
I  was  never  granted  a  sight  of  it.  And  I  rather  suspect 
that  she,  like  most  of  the  fashion-rotted  women  and  men, 
had  lost  by  a  process  of  atrophy  through  suppression 
and  disuse  the  last  fragment  of  reality.  Had  Gabriel's 
trumpet  sounded  and  the  great  light  from  the  Throne 
revealed  the  secrets  of  all  hearts,  it  would  have  pene 
trated  in  her  to  nothing  but  posing  within  posing. 

I  shall  get  no  sympathy  from  man  or  woman — or 
fellow-beast — after  talking  thus  of  a  woman  and  a  lady. 
It  is  the  convention  to  speak  gallant  lies  to  and  about 
women — and  to  treat  them  as  if  they  were  beneath  con 
tempt.  So  my  habit  of  treating  them  well  and  speak 
ing  the  truth  about  them  will  be  condemned  and  de 
nounced  with  the  triple  curse.  Well — I  shall  try  to 
live  through  it. 

Except  in  occasional  outbursts  when  her  rude  can 
dor  toward  me  would  anger  me  into  retort  in  kind,  I 
concealed  my  feeling  about  her.  I  knew  it  was  just, 
yet  I  was  ashamed  of  it.  Our  quarrels  were  all  surface 
affairs — outbursts  of  irritation — the  blowing  off  of  sur 
plus  steam,  not  the  bursting  of  the  boiler  and  the  wreck- 

338 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing  of  the  machinery.  If  you  happen  to  take  into  your 
employ  any  of  the  servants  we  had  in  those  days — 
Edna's  maids  or  my  valet  or  any  other  of  the  menials 
so  placed  that  they  could  spy  upon  our  innermost 
privacy — I  am  confident  that  in  return  for  your  adroit, 
searching  questionings  you  will  hear  we  were  no  more 
inharmonious  than  the  usual  married  couple  past  the 
best-foot-foremost  stage.  I  did  not  swear  at  her;  she 
did  not  throw  bric-a-brac  at  me.  And  once,  I  remember, 
when  I  had  a  bad  headache  she  stayed  home  from  the 
opera — on  a  Monday  night,  too — to  read  to  me.  It  is 
true  the  new  dress  in  which  she  had  expected  to  show 
herself  was  not  ready.  But  that  is  a  detail  for  a  cynic 
to  linger  upon. 

Three  months  of  New  York,  and  she  was  bored  to 
extinction.  I  had  confidently  been  expecting  this.  I 
watched  the  signs  of  it  with  gnawing  anxiety,  for  I 
was  very  near  to  the  end  of  my  good  behavior.  If 
possible  I  wished  to  stay  on  and  help  her  toward  a 
rational  frame  of  mind — one  in  which  she  would  see 
that  divorce  was  the  only  possible  solution  of  our  im 
possible  situation.  But  I  began  to  fear  I  should  have 
to  give  up  and  fly — to  hunt  or  to  inspect  western  mines 
and  railways.  She  was  bored  by  the  women;  they 
seemed  shallow  dabblers  in  culture  after  the  European 
women.  She  was  offended  by  their  nervousness  about 
their  position ;  it  made  them  seem  common  in  contrast 
with  the  Europeans,  born  swells  and  impregnably  en 
sconced.  She  was  bored  by  the  men — by  their  fewness, 
by  the  insufferable  dullness  of  those  few — all  of  them 
feeble  imitations  of  the  European  type  of  elegant  loafer. 

339 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  These  men  have  no  subtlety,"  she  cried.  "  They 
have  no  conversation.  When  they're  alone  with  a  wom 
an — you  should  hear  them  try  to  flatter.  They  are 
as  different  from  the  European  men  as — as " 

"  As  a  fence-painter  from  an  artist,"  I  suggested. 

"  Quite  that,"  said  she,  and  I  saw  her  making  a 
mental  note  of  the  comparison  for  future  use — one  of 
her  best  tricks.  "  Really,  I  prefer  the  business  men 
to  them.  But  one  cannot  get  the  business  men.  What 
a  country,  where  everyone  who  has  any  brains  is  at 
work!" 

"  If  you  are  unhappy  here,  why  not  go  abroad  ?  " 
said  I  amiably.  "  Margot  is  always  waiting  for 
you." 

"  But  how  can  I  go  abroad?  "  railed  she.  "  There'll 
be  another  outbreak  of  scandal.  Was  ever  a  woman  sa 
wretchedly  placed!  What  shall  I  do!  If  I  had  some 
one  to  advise  me !  " 

It  was  interesting  to  hear  her,  determined,  self- 
reliant  character  though  she  was,  thus  confess  to  the 
universal  weakness  of  the  female  sex.  Women,  not 
trained  to  act  for  themselves,  can  hardly  overcome  this 
fundamental  defect.  That  is  why  you  so  often  see  an 
apparently,  and  probably,  superior  woman  weaken  and 
yield  where  a  distinctly  ordinary  man  would  be  strong 
and  would  march  ahead.  The  trouble  with  Edna  was 
that  she  had  no  definite  man  behind  her,  spurring  her 
on  to  action.  In  all  she  had  done  from  the  beginning 
of  our  married  life  she  had  felt  that  she  had  me  to  fall 
back  on,  should  emergency  arise — an  unconscious  de 
pendence,  one  she  would  have  scornfully  denied,  but  none 

340 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  less  real.  In  this  affair  there  was  no  man  to  fall 
back  on. 

I  saw  this.  Yet  I  refrained  from  giving  her  the 
support  she  needed  and  all  but  asked.  Her  cry,  "  If  I 
had  some  one  to  advise  me,"  meant,  "  If  I  had  some  one 
to  give  me  the  courage  to  act."  I  knew  what  it  meant. 
But  eager  though  I  was  to  be  quit  of  her,  I  would  not 
give  her  the  thrust  toward  divorce  that  would  have  put 
into  her  the  courage  of  anger  and  of  the  feeling  that 
she  was  a  martyr  to  my  brutality.  Why  did  I  hold 
myself  in  check?  Candidly,  I  do  not  know.  I  distrust 
the  suggestion  that  it  may  have  been  due  to  essential 
goodness  of  heart.  At  any  rate,  I  did  restrain  myself. 
She — naturally  enough — misunderstood;  and  she  pro 
ceeded  to  explain  it  to  the  gratifying  of  her  vanity.  I 
saw  in  her  eyes,  in  her  way  of  treating  me,  that  she 
thought  me  her  secret  adorer,  convinced  of  my  un- 
worthiness,  of  her  god-to-mortal  superiority;  not  dar 
ing  openly  to  resist  her  desire  to  be  free  from  me,  but 
opposing  it  humbly,  silently.  I  saw  that  she  pitied  me. 
Did  this  add  to  my  anger?  Not  in  the  least.  I  have 
a  perhaps  queer  sense  of  humor.  I  rather  welcomed 
the  chance  to  get  a  little  amusement  out  of  a  situation 
otherwise  dreary  and  infuriating. 

Curiously  enough,  it  was  Armitage  who  came  to  her 
rescue — and  to  mine. 

Bob  had  been  in  retirement  several  weeks,  having 
himself  rejuvenated  by  a  beauty  doctor.  You  are  as 
tonished,  gentle  reader,  perhaps  incredulous,  that  a 
man  of  his  position — high  both  socially  and  financially 
— should  stoop  to  such  triviality — not  a  woman  but  a 

341 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

man.  And  the  serious,  masculine  sort  of  man  he  was, 
I  assure  you.  But  you,  being  a  confirmed  accepter  of 
the  trash  written  and  talked  about  human  nature,  do 
not  appreciate  what  a  power  physical  vanity  is  in  the 
world.  Of  course,  if  you  are  a  man,  you  know  about 
your  own  carefully  hid  physical  vanity.  But  you 
think  it  in  yourself  a  virtue,  quite  natural,  not  a  vanity 
at  all.  Bob  Armitage  was  not  vain  enough  to  fail  to 
see  the  beginning  of  the  ravages  of  time  and  dissipa 
tion.  Another  man  would  have  looked  in  the  glass  and 
would  have  seen  a  reflection  ever  handsomer  as  the 
years  went  by,  would  have  discovered  in  the  creases  and 
crow's-feet  and  lengthening  wattles  a  superb  beauty  of 
manly  strength  of  character  showing  at  last  in  the  face. 
Bob  was  not  that  sort  of  fool.  He  wished  to  fascinate 
the  ladies;  so,  he  strove  to  retain  the  fair  insignia  of 
youth  as  long  as  he  possibly  could.  He  knew  as  well 
as  the  next  man  that  his  wealth  had  value  with  the 
women  far  beyond  any  degree  of  beauty  or  charm.  But 
like  most  men  he  wished  to  feel  that  he  was  at  least  not 
a  "  winner  "  in  spite  of  his  personal  self ;  and  his  young 
good  looks  even  helped  toward  the  pleas antest  of  de 
lusions — that  he  was  loved  for  himself  chiefly. 

The  beauty  doctor  did  well  by  him,  I  must  say.  He 
looked  ten  years  younger,  would  have  passed  in  artifi 
cial  light  for  a  youth  of  thirty  or  thereabouts.  He  re 
appeared  in  his  haunts,  freshened  up  mentally,  too; 
for  physical  content  reacts  powerfully  upon  the  mind, 
and  while  it  is  true  that  feeling  young  helps  one  to  look 
young,  it  is  truer  that  looking  young  compels  one  to 
feel  young. 

342 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

With  him  came  a  Prince  Frascatoni,  head  of  one  of 
the  great  families  of  Italy,  one  of  the  few  that  have 
retained  German  titles  and  estates  from  the  days  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire.  Frascatoni  was  sufficiently  rich 
for  all  ordinary  purposes,  and  could  therefore  pose  as 
a  traveler  for  pleasure  with  no  matrimonial  designs. 
He  was,  in  fact,  poor  for  a  grand  seigneur  and  was 
on  the  same  business  in  America  that  has  attracted 
here  every  other  visiting  foreigner  of  rank — except 
those  who  come  for  political  purposes,  and  those 
who  come  to  shoot  in  the  West.  And  those  classes 
give  our  fashionable  society  as  wide  a  berth  as 
they  would  its  middle-class  prototype  in  their  home 
countries. 

The  first  time  I  saw  Frascatoni — when  he  and  Ar- 
mitage  strolled  into  the  reading  room  of  the  Federal 
Club  together — I  thought  him  about  the  handsomest 
and,  in  a  certain  way,  the  most  distinguished-looking 
man  I  had  ever  seen.  He  was  a  black  Italian — dark 
olive  skin,  coal-black  hair,  dark-gray  eyes  that  seemed 
black  or  brown  at  a  glance.  They  were  weary-looking 
eyes ;  they  gazed  at  you  with  the  ineffable  dreamy 
satiric  repose  of  a  sphinx  who  has  seen  the  futile  human 
procession  march  into  the  grave  for  countless  centuries. 
He  had  a  slow  sweet  smile,  a  manner  made  superior  by 
the  efFacement  of  every  trace  of  superiority.  He  had 
the  quiet,  leisurely  voice  of  one  used  to  being  listened 
to  attentively. 

"  Loring — the  Prince  Frascatoni.  Prince,  I  par 
ticularly  wish  you  to  know  my  friend  Godfrey  Loring. 
Don't  be  deceived  by  his  look  of  the  honest  simple 

343 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

youth  into  thinking  him  either  young  or  unsophis 
ticated." 

The  prince  gave  me  his  hand.  As  it  had  also  been 
my  habit  ever  since  I  learned  the  valuable  trick  merely 
to  give  my  hand,  the  gesture  was  a  draw.  Neither  had 
trapped  the  other  into  making  an  advance.  We  talked 
commonplaces  of  New  York  sky  line,  American  energy 
and  business  enthusiasm  for  perhaps  half  an  hour. 
Then  we  three  and  some  one  else,  a  professional  culti 
vator  of  millionaires  named  Chassory,  I  believe,  played 
bridge  and  afterwards  dined  together.  It  came  out 
sometime  during  the  evening  that  Frascatoni  had  met 
my  wife  in  Rome  and  in  Paris,  and  that  he  knew  my 
son-in-law — not  surprising,  as  the  fashionable  set  is  in 
ternational,  and  is  small  enough  to  be  acquainted  all 
round. 

Armitage  must  have  told  him  that  my  wife  and  I 
were  not  altogether  inconsolable  if  we  did  not  see  too 
much  of  each  other.  For,  the  prince,  taking  Edna  in 
to  dinner  a  few  nights  later,  laid  siege  at  once.  I  recall 
noting  how  he  would  talk  to  her  in  his  quiet,  leisurely 
way  until  she  looked  at  him;  then,  how  his  weary  eyes 
would  suddenly  light  up  with  interest — not  with  ardor 
— nothing  so  banal  as  that — but  a  fleeting  gleam  of  in 
terest  that  was  more  flattering  than  the  ardor  of  an 
other  man  would  have  been.  As  Frascatoni,  an  un 
usual  type,  attracted  me,  I  saved  myself  from  boredom 
by  observing  him  all  evening.  And  it  was  highly  in 
structive  in  the  art  of  winning — whether  women  or  men 
— to  see  how  he  led  her  on  to  try  to  make  that  fasci 
nating  fugitive  gleam  reappear  in  his  eyes.  I  afterwards 

344 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

discovered  that  he  accompanied  the  gleam  with  a  pecul 
iar  veiled  caress  of  inflection  in  his  calm,  even  voice — 
a  trick  that  doubly  reenforced  the  flattery  of  the  gleam. 

"  What  a  charming  man  Prince  Frascatoni  is,"  said 
my  wife,  when  our  guests  were  gone. 

"  Very,"  said  I.  "  If  I  were  writing  a  novel  I'd 
make  him  the  hero — or  the  villain." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  greatest  nobles  in  Europe." 

"  He  looks  it  and  acts  it,"  said  I. 

"  Why,  I  thought  him  very  simple  and  natural," 
protested  she. 

"  Exactly,"  said  I.  "So  many  of  the  nobles  I've 
met  looked  and  acted  like  frauds.  They  seemed  afraid 
it  wouldn't  be  known  that  they  were  of  the  aristoc 
racy." 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  said  Edna. 

"  Then  why  do  I  size  up  Frascatoni  so  well?  " 

"  You  happen  to  like  him." 

"  But  I  don't,"  replied  I. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Edna  with  sarcasm.  "  He 
isn't  in  business." 

"  Precisely,"  I  answered.  "  He  couldn't  do  any 
thing — build  a  railroad,  run  a  factory,  write  a  book, 
paint  a  picture.  He  and  his  kind  are  simply  amateurs 
at  life,  and  their  pretense  that  they  could  be  profes 
sionals  if  they  chose  ought  to  deceive  nobody.  He  prob 
ably  could  ride  a  horse  a  little  worse  than  a  profes 
sional  jockey,  or  handle  a  foil  almost  as  well  as  a  fenc 
ing  master,  or  play  on  the  piano  or  the  violin  passably. 
I  don't  admire  that  sort  of  people,  and  I  can't  like 
where  I  don't  admire." 

34*5 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Edna  yawned  and  prepared  to  go  up  to  her  own 
rooms.  "  I  hope  he'll  stay  a  while,"  said  she.  "  And 
I  hope  he'll  let  me  see  something  of  him.  He's  the  first 
ray  of  interest  I've  had  this  winter." 

"  You  will  see  something  of  him,"  said  I.  "  He 
liked  you." 

"You  think  so?"  said  she,  seating  herself  on  the 
arm  of  a  chair. 

"  I  know  it.  Unless  he  finds  what  he's  looking  for, 
he'll  attach  himself  to  you." 

"  What  is  he  looking  for?  " 

"  A  very  rich  wife,"  said  I.  "  But  she  must  be  at 
tractive  as  well  as  rich,  Armitage  tells  me.  Frascatoni 
doesn't  need  money  badly  enough  to  annex  a  frump. 
And  Armitage  says  that  while  Englishmen  and  Ger 
mans  and  the  heiress-hunting  sort  of  French  don't  care 
a  rap  what  the  lady  looks  like,  the  Italians — of  the 
old  families  —  are  rather  particular  —  not  exacting, 
but  particular.  Unless,  of  course,  the  fortune  is 
huge." 

Edna  yawned  again.  That  sort  of  talk  either  irri 
tated  or  bored  her. 

Frascatoni  was  constantly  with  her  thenceforth — 
not  pointedly  or  scandalously  so ;  there  are  discreet  ways 
of  doing  those  things,  and  of  discretion  in  all  its  forms 
the  Italian  was  a  supreme  master.  The  game  of  man 
and  woman  had  been  his  especial  game  from  precocious 
and  maddeningly  handsome  boyhood.  He  had  learned 
both  by  being  conquered  and  by  conquering.  They  say 
— and  I  believe  it — that  of  all  the  foreigners  a  clean 
Italian  nobleman  is  the  most  fascinating. 

346 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

The  Hungarian  or  Russian  is  a  wild,  barbaric  love- 
maker,  the  German  a  wordy  sentimentalist,  the  Eng 
lishman  dominates  and  absorbs,  the  Frenchman  knows 
how  to  flatter  the  most  subtly,  how  to  make  the  woman 
feel  that  life  with  him  would  be  full  of  interest  and  charm. 
ij  But  the  right  sort  of  Italian  combines  the  best  of  all 
these  qualities,  and  adds  to  them  the  allure  of  the  un- 
fathomably  mysterious.  Pie  constantly  satisfies  yet 
always  baffles.  He  reveals  himself,  only  to  disclose  in 
the  inner  wall  of  what  seemed  to  be  his  innermost  self 
a  strangely  carved  door  ajar. 

My  first  intimation  of  what  Frascatoni  was  about 
came  from  my  wife.  Not  words,  of  course,  but  actions. 
She  abruptly  ceased  quarreling,  rebuking,  reproaching, 
scoffing.  She  soothed,  sympathized,  agreed.  She  be 
came  as  sweet  as  she  had  formerly  been.  I  was  puzzled, 
and  waited  for  light.  It  came  with  her  next  move. 
She  began  to  talk  of  going  back  to  Europe,  to  deplore 
that  scandal  mongers  would  not  let  her.  She  began  to 
chaff  me  on  my  love  of  a  bachelor's  life,  on  my  dis 
like  of  married  life.  She  said  with  reproachful,  yet 
smiling  gentleness,  that  I  made  her  feel  ashamed  to 
stay  on. 

"  Admit,"  said  she,  "  that  you'd  be  better  pleased  if 
I  I  were  in  Guinea." 

"  You  oughtn't  have  given  me  so  many  years  of 
freedom,"  said  I. 

"  You'd  have  been  glad  if  I  had  gone  on  and  gotten 
a  divorce,"  pursued  she. 

My  drowsing  soul  startled  and  listened.  "  I  was 
willing  that  you  should  do  as  you  liked,"  said  I.  "  Di- 

347 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

vorce  is  a  matter  of  more  importance  to  the  woman  than 
to  the  man — just  as  marriage  is." 

"  And  it's  a  sensible  thing,  too — isn't  it?  " 

"  Very,"  said  I. 

"  Godfrey,  would  you  honestly  be  willing?  " 

"  I'd  not  lay  a  straw  in  your  way." 

"  What  nonsense  we're  talking !  "  cried  she,  with  a 
nervous  laugh.  "  And  yet  there's  no  denying  that  we 
don't  get  on  together.  I  see  how  trying  it  is  to  you  to 
have  me  about." 

"  And  you  want  to  be  free  and  living  abroad." 

"  I  wonder  how  much  I'd  really  mind  the  scandal,'" 
pursued  she.  "  I  don't  care  especially  about  these  New 
York  people.  And  at  the  worst  what  harm  could  they 
do  me?  " 

"  None,"  said  I. 

"  They  could  only  talk.    How  they'd  blame  me !  " 

"  Behind  your  back,  perhaps,"  said  I.  "  Unless  they 
thought  I  was  to  blame — which  is  more  likely." 

"  You  talk  of  divorce  as  if  it  were  nothing." 

"  It's  merely  a  means  to  an  end,"  said  I.  "  You've 
got  only  the  one  life,  you  know." 

"  And  I'm  no  longer  so  dreadfully  young.  Though, 
I  heard  that  Armitage  said  the  other  day  he  would  never 
dream  I  was  over  twenty-eight  if  he  didn't  know." 

She  laughed  with  the  pleasure  we  all  take  in  a  com 
pliment  that  is  genuine;  for  she  knew  as  well  as  did 
Armitage  that  she  could  pass  for  twenty-eight — and  a 
radiant  twenty-eight — even  in  her  least  lovely  hour. 

"  No  one  has  youth  to  waste,"  observed  I.  "  In  your 
heart  you  wish  to  be  free — don't  you?  " 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  We  are  not  suited  to  each  other,  Godfrey,"  said 
she  with  gentle  friendliness. 

"  There's  not  a  doubt  of  that,"  said  I. 

"  Why  should  we  spoil  each  other's  lives  ?  I  con 
ceal  it  from  you,  but  I  am  so  unhappy  here." 

"  You  can't  blame  me"  said  I.  "  I'm  not  detaining 
you." 

A  long  silence,  then  she  said:  "  Suppose  I  were  to 
consent — "  I  laughed,  she  reddened,  corrected  herself : 
"  Suppose  we  were  to  decide  to  do  it — what  then?  " 

"  Why — a  divorce,"  said  I. 

"  Can't  those  things  be  done  quietly?  " 

"  Certainly.  No  publicity  until  the  decree  is  en 
tered  and  the  papers  sealed." 

"  Does  that  mean  no  scandal  beyond  just  the  fact?  " 

"  No  scandal  at  all.  Just  the  fact,  and  some  news 
paper  comment." 

"  And  we  needn't  be  here." 

"  Not  then." 

"Would  it  take  long?" 

I  reflected.  "  Let  me  see — if  you  begin  action  say 
within  a  month,  the  divorce  would  take —  I  could  have 
it  pushed  through  in  another  month  or  so,  and  then — by 
next  fall  you'd  be  free." 

"  But  doesn't  one  have  to  have  grounds  for  divorce, 
beside  not  wanting  to  be  married?  " 

"  All  that  easily  arranges  itself,"  said  I. 

She  lapsed  into  a  deep  study,  I  furtively  watching 
her.    I  saw  an  expression  of  fright,  at  the  daring  of  her 
thoughts,  gather — fright,  yet  fascination,  too.     Said  she 
in  a  low  voice :  "  Godfrey,  are  you  serious?  " 
23  349 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Entirely  so,"  was  my  careless  reply.  "  Aren't 
you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not.  ...  I  am 
wretched  here ! " 

"  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  say  the  word.  We  don't 
in  the  least  need  each  other,  and  mutual  need  is  the  only 
respectable  excuse  for  marriage.  And  I  must  tell  you, 
I'll  not  stand  for  any  more  of  this  social  nonsense  that 
compels  me  to  participate.  I'm  done." 

She  looked  at  me  pityingly.  Our  season  had  been  a 
brilliant  success,  yet  I  remained  unconverted,  coarsely  un 
sympathetic.  "  If  I  should  decide  to — to  do  it — what 
then?" 

"  Nothing.  I'd  go  away.  The  rest  would  be  for  the 
lawyers." 

She  looked  at  me  dazedly.  "  I'll  see — I'll  see,"  she 
said,  and  went  to  her  own  part  of  the  house. 

A  week  passed.  Frascatoni  sailed  for  home,  sending 
by  her  his  polite  regrets  at  not  having  seen  me  before 
his  departure.  I  waited,  confident.  I  knew  she  had  a 
definite  goal  at  last,  and,  therefore,  a  definite  purpose. 
Aside  from  the  danger  of  frightening  her  back  by  show 
ing  my  own  eagerness  there  was  the  matter  of  property. 
I  was  willing  to  pay  a  good  round  price  for  freedom. 
I  have  always  hated  money  wrangles;  I  had  never  had 
one  with  her,  and  I  did  not  purpose  to  have.  On  the 
other  hand,  that  is,  on  her  side,  she  would  have  given  me 
short  shrift  had  it  not  been  that  she  wished  a  slice  of  my 
fortune — and  a  generous  slice — to  add  to  her  own.  I've 
not  a  doubt  that  the  fierce  social  campaign  she  put  me 
through  that  winter  was  not  so  much  for  her  own  pleas- 

350 


THE   HUSBAND'S  STORY 

lire,  though  she  delighted  in  it,  as  for  goading  me  to 
demand  a  divorce,  and,  so,  enable  her  to  ease  her  con 
science  and  to  drive  a  better  bargain. 

My  seeming  indifference,  combined  with  her  now 
trembling  eagerness  to  be  free  and  away,  soon  forced 
her  hand.  The  break  came  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  Life 
is  so  inartistic — that  is,  from  the  standpoint  of  the  cheap 
novelists  and  playwrights  with  their  dramatic  claptrap. 
Here  is  how  the  grand  crash  was  precipitated: 

Said  I :  "  Well,  I'm  off  for  a  few  weeks'  fishing." 

"  You're  not  starting  now?  "  said  she. 

"  Day  after  to-morrow,"  said  I. 

"  But  I've  made  several  engagements  for  you." 

"  Get  a  substitute,"  said  I.    "  No  one  will  miss  me.'* 

"  How  inconsiderate  you  are !  " 

"  That's  pretty  good — after  all  I've  borne  this  win 
ter." 

"  You  are  insufferable !  "  cried  she. 

"  Then — why  suffer  me  ?  "  said  I  coolly. 

"  If  you  torture  me  much  further,  I  won't,"  retorted 
she. 

"  I  think  I'll  clear  out  to-night,"  said  I. 

"  With  people  coming  to  dinner  to-morrow !  A  big 
dinner!" 

"  Yes — to-night,"  said  I.  "  I  had  forgotten  to-mor 
row's  horrors." 

"If  I  were  free!" 

"  That's  easy." 

"  Yes— I  will  be  free !  " 

"  I'll  send  you  a  lawyer  at  eleven  to-morrow  morn 
ing." 

351 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

She  was  pale  and  trembling.  The  quarrel  was  a 
mere  pretense — a  pretext  so  flimsy  that  each  knew  the 
other  was  not  deceived  by  it.  Her  tones  of  anger,  my 
tones  of  abrupt  and  contemptuous  indifference  were  ob 
viously  false  and  forced.  As  I  left  the  room  I  cast  a 
furtive  glance  at  her,  saw  that  her  daring  was  so  terrify 
ing  her  that  she  could  hardly  keep  a  plausible  front  of 
haughty  anger. 

It  was  several  hours  before  I  could  get  away  from 
the  house,  though  I  made  all  haste.  Every  moment  I 
expected  some  word  from  her.  But  none  came.  I  sent 
the  lawyer  the  following  morning.  I  was  surprised  when 
later  in  the  day,  by  the  necessary  roundabout  way,  I 
learned  that  she  had  actually  consented. 

She  showed  that  she  had  made  an  exhaustive  study 
of  the  subject,  like  the  wise  campaigner  she  was.  She 
thoroughly  understood  how  to  proceed ;  for,  she  told  her 
lawyer — the  one  of  my  lawyers  whom  I  assigned  to  her 
— that  my  coldness  to  her  had  filled  her  with  suspicion 
and  that  she  wished  detectives  employed.  She  needed 
no  coaching  whatever;  he  found  her  prepared  on  every 
point. 

How  far  had  matters  gone  between  her  and  Fras- 
catoni?  Not  so  far  as  you  imagine;  but  perhaps  far 
ther  than  I  think.  Both  the  husband  and  the  world  are 
poor  judges  in  those  affairs. 

I  shall  pass  over  the  suit.  It  was  commonplace 
throughout.  There  has  been  much  speculation  as  to  the 
person  named  by  my  wife  in  the  sealed  papers.  I  can 
truthfully  say  that  I  know  as  little  about  that  person 

352 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

as  does  the  public.  It  is  usually  so,  I  believe,  in  these 
arranged  suits.  I  did  not  appear  at  any  of  the  hear 
ings,  all  of  them  held  secretly.  Nor  did  Edna  appear, 
though  I  believe  that,  to  comply  with  the  forms  of  law, 
she  made  some  sort  of  deposition  in  the  presence  of  the 
lawyers  for  both  sides.  It  so  happened  that  the  first 
and  only  public  step — the  judge's  ordering  of  the  decree 
of  divorce — was  published  on  the  same  day  with  the 
news  of  a  big  prize  fight,  a  sensational  murder,  and  a 
terrific  earthquake.  So,  we  got  off  with  little  public  at 
tention.  At  the  time  the  law  provided  that  a  decree 
should  not  become  valid  for  six  months.  We  were  nom 
inally  free;  but  actually  neither  could  marry  again  for 
six  months  and  meanwhile  either  of  us  could  reopen  the 
case — and  she  could  by  merely  requesting  put  an  end 
to  it  and  restore  her  status  as  my  wife.  So,  I  was  free 
— unless  Edna  should  change  her  mind  sometime  within 
the  six  months. 

Edna  was  in  London  and  I  in  Paris  when  the  news 
came.  Curiously  enough,  as  I  stood  in  the  doorway  of 
the  Ritz  restaurant,  that  evening,  looking  about  for  a 
table  where  I  could  dine  alone,  in  came  Prince  Frascatoni 
with  another  Italian  whose  name  I  cannot  recall.  I 
bowed  to  Frascatoni.  He  said: 

"  You  are  alone,  sir?  " 

"  Unluckily,  yes,"  replied  I. 

He  introduced  his  companion  and  suggested  that  we 
three  dine  at  the  same  table.  "  Why  not  share  our  din 
ner  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  can  easily  change  my  order.  Per 
haps  you  will  go  with  us  afterwards  to  some  amusing 
little  plays  in  a  Montmartre  theater?  " 

353 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  accepted  the  courteous  invitation.  The  situation 
appealed  to  my  sense  of  humor.  Also  I  knew  that  Edna 
— toward  whom  I  now  felt  most  kindly — would  be  de 
lighted  to  read  in  the  papers :  "  Prince  Frascatoni  had 
<is  his  guest  at  dinner  last  night  Mr.  Godfrey  Loring." 
^It  would  put  an  immediate  stop  to  any  tendency  to  gos 
sip.  As  the  prince  did  not  speak  of  my  former  wife  I 
assumed  that  he  had  heard  the  news. 

When  we  were  separating  I  said :  "  You  will  dine 
with  me  to-morrow  night?  " 

"  Unfortunately  I'm  leaving  town  in  the  morning," 
said  he. 

I  thought  I  could  guess  which  way  he  was  journey 
ing.  With  perhaps  a  twinkle  in  my  eyes,  I  said:  "  So 
soon  ?  Well — thank  you,  and  good-by — and  good  luck." 

I  thought  I  saw  a  sardonic  smile  flit  over  his  face. 
He  probably  imagined  I  was  in  the  dark  as  to  his 
maneuverings  and  designs  and  smiled  to  himself  as  he 
thought,  "  How  differently  this  American  would  be 
treating  me  if  he  knew !  "  Do  not  fancy,  because  Edna 
had  no  charm  for  me,  I  thought  it  strange  she  should 
have  charm  for  other  men.  Nothing  could  be  further 
from  the  truth.  I  appreciated  her  attractive  points 
perhaps  more  than  any  other  man  possibly  could.  Also, 
jT  appreciated — and  still  appreciate — that  another  man 
would  not  be  so  peculiarly  annoyed  by  her  lack  of  any 
sense  of  humor  as  I  was.  Indeed,  had  not  circumstances 
forced  me  into  the  acutely  critical  mood  toward  her,  I 
doubt  not  I  could  have  continued  to  bear  with  that  lack, 
though  it  made  conversation  with  her  all  but  impossible 
and  precipitated  quarrels  without  number. 

354 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Beyond  question  the  strongest  and  most  enduring 
hold  a  man  can  get  upon  a  woman  or  a  woman  upon  a 
man  is  the  physical.  We — even  the  least  intellectual  of 
us — are  something  more  than  physical;  but  the  physical 
must  be  contented  first,  and  must  remain  contented,  be 
cause  we  are  first  of  all  physical.  The  physical  is  the 
fundamental ;  but  it  takes  more  than  foundations  to  make 
a  house.  And  a  marriage  such  as  ours  was  could  not  en 
dure.  Each  of  us  had  but  the  one  charm  for  the  other. 
It  wore  itself  out  like  a  fire  that  is  not  supplied  with  fuel. 

If  I  had  not  fallen  in  love  with  another  woman,  there 
might  have  remained  a  feeling  for  Edna  that  would 
have  made  me  jealous,  perhaps  domineering  toward  her. 
As  it  was,  I  viewed  her  calmly ;  when  I  said  "  good  luck  " 
to  Frascatoni,  I  meant  it.  I  hoped  he  would  make  Edna 
happy,  for,  I  wished  her  well. 

Through  Armitage  I  had  provided  myself  with  Mary 
Kirkwood's  address — an  apartment  overlooking  the  Pare 
Monceau  which  she  and  Neva  Armstrong  had  taken  for 
the  spring  months.  That  very  afternoon  I  went  to  leave 
cards.  As  I  feared  she  was  not  at  home.  "  But,"  said 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  you  may  find  her  walking  in  the 
park  with  Hartley  Beechman." 

"Oh,  is  he  here?"  said  I. 

"  Naturally,"  replied  she.  , 

You  may  picture  me  as  suddenly  dashed  down  by  this 
word  whose  meaning  there  was  no  mistaking.  If  so,  you 
have  discovered  little  about  me  in  these  pages.  Life  had 
made  me  a  competent  judge  of  the  situation  that  is  really 
hopeless,  the  situation  where  to  struggle  is  folly,  and 
that  situation  which  seems  hopeless  to  the  small  of  earth, 

355 


THE   HUSBAND'S '   STO R  Y 

accustomed  to  defeat  in  their  desires,  but  seems  only  diffi 
cult  to  the  other  sort  of  human  beings. 

"  He  has  taken  a  studio  over  in  the  Latin  quarter," 
continued  Mrs.  Armstrong.  "  We  are  all  going  back 
together  in  July." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  is  an  attractive  woman — singularly 
so  for  one  who  is  obviously  wholly  absorbed  in  her  hus 
band.  She  has  the  sort  of  personality  her  paintings 
prepare  you  to  expect.  But  I  had  difficulty  in  conceal 
ing  my  impatience  to  get  away.  I  strolled  several  times 
through  the  park,  which  is  not  large,  before  I  finally  came 
upon  Mary  and  Beechman  seated  in  one  of  the  less-fre 
quented  paths.  As  I  was  moving  directly  toward  them, 
both  saw  me  at  the  same  instant.  Her  welcoming  smile 
was  radiant.  I  did  not  notice  his,  but  I  assume  it  was 
more  reserved. 

Never  had  I  seen  her  looking  so  well.  You  may 
say  what  you  please,  but  an  American  woman  who  knows 
how  to  dress,  in  touch  with  a  French  dressmaker  who  is 
rather  artist  than  dressmaker,  is  the  supreme  com 
bination  for  aesthetic  beauty.  Mrs.  Kirkwood,  of  the 
ivory  skin  and  the  coal-black  hair,  was  a  thrilling  sight 
to  see  in  her  white  dress  and  big  black  hat,  with  that 
background  of  fresh  spring  foliage  and  late  afternoon 
light.  Her  eyes  and  her  smile,  I  noted  for  the  first  time, 
had  somewhat  the  same  quality  as  Frascatoni's — the 
weary  eyes,  the  slow  sweet  smile. 

"  Mr.  Loring !  "  she  cried,  rising  and  extending  her 
hand  impulsively.  "  I  thought  I  was  never  to  see  you 
again." 

I  hid  my  emotion  and  greeted  her,  then  Beechman,  in 
356 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

my  habitual  manner  which,  they  tell  me,  is  the  reverse  of 
effusive.  I  suppose,  when  I  am  deeply  moved,  its  lack 
of  cordiality  becomes  even  more  pronounced.  After  a 
few  minutes  of  the  talk  necessary  among  acquaintances 
who  have  not  met  in  a  long  time  Beechman  rose. 

"  You  and  Beechman  will  dine  with  me,  I  hope?  "  I 
said.  "  Mrs.  Armstrong  says  she  will  go  if  you  can." 

It  was  arranged  and,  as  the  day  was  warm,  d'Armen- 
onville  was  fixed  upon  as  the  place.  "  Until  half  past 
eight,"  said  Beechman  as  he  left.  Mary  and  I  sat  silent 
watching  him  walk  away.  A  superb  figure  of  young 
manhood,  supremely  fortunate  in  that  his  body  was  an, 
adequate  expression  of  a  strong  and  simple  nature. 

As  he  passed  from  view  at  the  turn  of  the  walk  I 
transferred  my  gaze  to  her.  Her  eyes  slowly  lowered, 
and  a  faint  flush  came  into  her  cheeks.  Said  I : 

"  You  saw  the  news — about  me?  " 

"  Hartley  and  I  were  talking  of  it  as  you  appeared." 

"  You  were  not  surprised?  " 

"  Yes — and  no,"  replied  she,  with  constraint  and 
some  confusion.  "  A  year  or  so  ago  I — people  thought 
— you  and  she  had — had  drifted  apart.  Then  it  looked 
as  though  you  had  come  together  again.  It  seemed  the 
natural  thing.  She  is  beautiful  and  has  so  much  charm." 

"  She  was  unhappy  in  America.  She  wished  to  be 
free." 

Mary  looked  at  me  reflectively.  "  You  are  not — in 
consolable,  I  see,"  said  she  with  a  smile  of  faint  raillery. 
"  My  brother  has  often  told  me  about  you — how  indif 
ferent  you  are  to  women.  Perhaps  that  is  why  you  are 
attractive  to  them." 

357 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Am  I?  "  said  I.    "  I  did  not  know  it." 

"  You  are  terribly  impersonal,"  she  went  on  laugh 
ingly.  "  Last  summer  I — well,  I  was  not — that  is,  not 
exactly — trying  to  flirt  with  you.  But  your  absolute  un 
consciousness  of  me  as  a  woman  was  often  very — baf- 
''  fling." 

I  laughed.     "  You  thought  that?  " 

"  How  could  I  help  seeing  it?  Why,  you  treated  me 
precisely  as  if  I  were  another  man.  Not  that  I  didn't 
like  it,  on  the  whole.  A  woman  gets  tired  of  being  al 
ways  on  guard."  She  smiled  at  herself.  "  That  sounds 
horribly  conceited.  But  you  know  what  I  mean.  The 
men  never  lose  a  chance  to  practice.  Then,  too — well,  if 
a  woman  has  the  reputation  .of  being  rich  she  need  not 
flatter  herself  that  it  is  her  charms  that  do  all  the  draw- 
ing." 

"  That's  the  supreme  curse  of  money — it  all  but  cuts 
one  off  from  love  and  friendship.  Fortunately  it,  to  a 
great  extent,  takes  the  place  of  them." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  she. 

"  How  many  poor  people  get  love  and  friendship?  " 
replied  I.  "  Isn't  it  the  truth  that  there  is  little — very, 
very  little — real  love  or  friendship  in  the  world?  All  I 
meant  was  that  money,  and  the  independence  and  com 
fort  and  the  counterfeit  of  affection  it  brings,  are  better 
than  nothing  at  all." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  she.  "  You  are  so  sensible — and 
you  don't  cant.  That  was  why  I  liked  to  talk  with  you. 
At  first  I  thought  you  cynical  and  hard.  That's  the  first 
impression  plain  good  sense  makes.  We  are  used  to 
hearing  only  shallow  sentimentality." 

358 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  The  unending  flapdoodle,"  said  I. 

"  Flapdoodle,"  agreed  she.  "  Then — I  began  to  dis 
cover  that  you  were  anything  but  hard — that  you  looked 
at  people  as  they  are,  and  liked  them  for  themselves,  not 
for  what  they  pretended  to  be.  I  was  beginning  to  trust 
you — to  venture  timidly  in  the  direction  of  being  my 
natural  self — when  you  left." 

"  Well — here  I  am  again,"  said  I.  "  And  we  start  in 
afresh." 

She  smiled  with  embarrassment.  "  Yes,"  she  said 
hesitatingly.  "  But  the  circumstances  have  changed 
somewhat." 

I  know  full  well  now  what  I  should  have  said.  I 
should  have  replied,  "  Yes — we  are  both  almost  free — 
but  soon  will  be  altogether  free — I  in  six  months,  you  as 
soon  as  you  break  your  engagement."  That  would  have 
been  bold  and  intelligent — for  it  is  always  intelligent  to 
make  the  issue  clear  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  But 
I  did  not  speak.  I  remained  silent.  Why?  Because  as 
I  was  talking  with  her  I  was  realizing  that  I  had  been 
deceiving  myself  in  a  curious  fashion.  I  had  been  so  con- 
centratedly  in  love  with  her —  Gentle  reader,  I  see  the 
mocking  smile  on  your  shallowly  sentimental  face.  You 
are  ridiculing  a  love  that  could  have  such  restraint  as 
mine — that  could  bear  with  Edna,  could  wait,  could  re 
frain  from  any  of  the  familiar  much-admired  impetuos 
ities  and  follies.  You  cannot  understand.  In  this  day 
when  men  no  longer  regard  or  feel  their  responsibilities 
in  taking  a  more  or  less  helpless  woman  to  wife,  your 
sense  of  the  decencies  is  utterly  corrupted.  But  let  me 
say  that  no  matter  how  ardently  and  romantically  a  man 

359 


THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY 

may  conduct  himself,  a  woman  would  do  well  to  take  care 
how  she  trusts  him  if  he  has  a  bad  or  even  a  doubtful 
record  as  to  his  way  of  meeting  his  responsibilities  of 
whatever  sort.  That  kind  of  love  may  "  listen  good,"  but 
it  does  not  "  live  good."  However — as  I  was  about  to 
say  when  your  smile  interrupted  me,  my  all-absorbing 
love  for  Mary  Kirkwood  had  misled  me  into  assum 
ing,  with  no  reason  whatsoever,  that  she  understood  all, 
that  she  knew  I  was  eager  to  come  to  her,  and  would 
come  as  soon  as  I  could.  You  will  say  this  was  absurd. 
Granted.  But  is  not  a  man  in  love  always  absurd? 
You  will  say  it  was  egotistical.  Granted.  But  is  not 
a  man  in  love  always  egotistical?  It  is  not  the  reali 
ties  but  the  delusions  that  keep  us  going ;  and  in  those 
long  months  of  waiting,  of  hoping  often  against  hope, 
I  had  to  have  a  delusion  to  keep  me  going.  But  now, 
her  friendly,  simply  friendly,  way  of  talking  to  me 
made  me  see  that  I  had  her  yet  to  win,  that  I  could 
not  speak  out  directly  as  I  had  planned.  You,  who  prob 
ably  know  women  well,  may  say  that  this  was  a  mis 
take.  Perhaps.  Nevertheless  /  could  not  have  done 
otherwise. 

You  will  say  that  women  do  not  know  their  own 
minds,  but  have  to  be  told.  I  admit  it.  You  will  say 
my  silence  was  timidity.  I  admit  it.  I  could  not  talk 
of  love  to  a  woman  until  I  was  sure  she  wished  to  hear. 
I  had  the  timidity  of  the  man  to  whom  woman  and  love 
are  serious  matters;  the  timidity  unknown  to  the  man 
who  makes  love  to  every  passible  female  at  whom  he  has 
a  chance ;  the  timidity  which  all  women  profess  to  ap 
prove,  but  which,  I  more  than  suspect,  appeals  only  to 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  jaded  palate  of  the  woman  who  has  long  made  love 
and  passion  her  profession. 

As  Beechman  was  busy  with  a  novel  I  had  everything 
my  own  way  without  strategy  during  those  following 
days.  There  are  a  thousand  attractive  places  to  go  in 
and  near  Paris,  and  I  was  resourceful  in  contriving  ex 
cursions  for  the  days  when  there  was  no  chance  of  seeing 
only  her.  Almost  every  day  the  London  papers  or  the 
Paris  Herald  printed  something  about  Edna  and  the  bril 
liant  season  she  was  having  in  London;  often  not  far 
away  from  her  name  in  a  list  of  guests  was  the  name  of 
Prince  Frascatoni.  My  own  activities,  more  Bohemian 
as  was  my  taste  and  the  taste  of  my  friends — and  I  may 
say  the  taste  of  civilized  and  intelligent  Paris — my  ac 
tivities  were  not  recorded  in  the  papers.  I  fancied  they 
were  unobserved.  I  was  soon  to  be  undeceived. 

I  wonder  who  the  people  are  that  write  anonymous 
letters — and  give  anonymous  "  tips  "  to  society  journals? 
Every  once  in  a  while  by  mischance — often  by  my  having 
made  a  remark  that  was  misinterpreted  into  something 
malicious  or  low,  utterly  foreign  to  my  real  meaning — I 
have  had  some  fellow-being  suddenly  unveil  a  noisome 
corner  in  his  or  her  soul  for  confidently  awaited  sym 
pathy;  and  I  have  almost  literally  shrunk  back  in  my 
horror  at  the  cesspool  of  coarseness,  or  at  the  vicious 
envy.  Have  you  had  that  experience?  No  doubt  scat 
tered  among  us  ordinary  folk,  neither  particularly  good 
nor  particularly  bad,  well  rather  than  ill-disposed  and 
amiable,  if  not  too  severely  tried  or  tempted — no  doubt, 
scattered  among  us  there  are  not  a  few  of  these  swine 
souls  or  snake  souls,  hid  beneath  a  pleasant  smile  and 

361 


THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY 

fine  raiment.     And  these  are  they  who  give  off  the  foul 
ness  of  the  anonymous  letters  and  the  anonymous  tip. 

In  one  of  the  minor  London  society  papers  appeared 
this  paragraph  which  I  am  sure  I  quote  word  for  word : 

"  American  Paris  is  much  amused  these  beauti 
fully  fine  spring  days  with  the  ardent  love-making 
of  a  recently  divorced  railway  l  baron.'  The  lady 
is  herself  a  divorcee  of  several  years  standing  and 
is  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  a  famous  young  liter 
ary  man  who  is  all  unaware  of  what  is  going  on." 

I  know  of  five  copies  of  this  j  ournal  that  were  mailed 
with  the  paragraph  marked.  The  five  were  received  by 
Edna,  Margot,  myself,  Mary  Kirkwood,  and  Hartley 
Beechman.  I  have  often  mentally  gone  through  the  list 
of  my  acquaintances  in  search  of  the  person  who  was  re 
sponsible  for  this  thing.  I  have  some  extremely  unpleas 
ant  characters  in  that  list.  But  I  have  never  been  able 
to  suspect  who  did  it.  Not  improbably  the  guilty  per 
son  is  some  one  in  other  respects  not  a  bad  sort — for 
almost  any  given  cut  from  that  vast  universal,  human 
nature,  contains  something  of  everything. 

I  had  an  engagement  with  Mary  Kirkwood  to  walk 
in  the  Bois  and  have  tea  the  afternoon  of  the  day  this 
paragraph  reached  me.  When  I  arrived  at  her  apart 
ment  she  came  down  ready  to  go.  Her  costume  was  so 
lovely  and  I  so  delighted  in  her  that  I  did  not  imme 
diately  note  the  heavy  circles  round  her  eyes  nor  the 
drawn  expression  of  her  mouth.  I  did  not  dream  that 
she  knew  of  the  paragraph.  I  had  read  it  and  had  dis- 

362 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

missed  it  from  my  mind.  The  anonymous  letter  and  the 
anonymous  newspaper  attack  were  old  familiar  stories  to 
me,  as  they  are  to  every  man  who  attains  distinction  in 
active  life.  But  as  we  drove  toward  the  Bois  I  hap 
pened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  by  way  of  the  mirror  in 
the  frame  of  the  taxi.  I  saw  the  evidence  of  suffering 
— and  the  wistful,  weary  look  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  I.     "  You  have  had  bad  news?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  she. 

"Can  I  help?" 

"  Don't  let's  talk  of  it  now,"  said  she.  "  Wait  un 
til  we  are  in  the  woods." 

Soon  after  we  passed  the  entrance  gates  we  descend 
ed  and  rambled  away  over  the  not  too  even  ground, 
along  the  indistinct  paths  under  the  fascinating  little 
trees.  It  was  a  gorgeous,  perfumed  May  day.  You 
know  the  Bois — how  lovely  it  is,  how  artfully  it  mingles 
the  wild  and  the  civilized,  suggesting  nature  as  a 
laughing  nymph  with  tresses  half  bound,  half  free, 
with  graceful  young  form  half  clad,  half  nude.  We 
rambled  on  and  on,  and  after  half  an  hour  seated  our 
selves  where  there  were  leaves  and  the  slim  graceful 
trunks  on  every  side  and  the  sound  of  falling  water 
like  the  musical  voice  of  the  sunbeams. 

Mary  drew  a  long  sigh.     "  I  feel  better,"  she  said.  (' 

I  looked  at  her.  "  You  are  better.  You  have 
shaken  it  off." 

She  met  my  gaze.  "  This  is  the  last  time,"  she  said. 
She  looked  away,  repeated  softly,  thoughtfully,  "  the 
last  time." 

"The  last  time?" 

363 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  We  are  not  going  to  see  each  other  any  more. 
It  is  being  misunderstood." 

I  glanced  quickly  at  her,  and  I  knew  she  had  read 
the  paragraph.  "  That  miserable  scandal  sheet !  "  said 
I.  "  No  one  sees  it — and  if  they  did  why  should  we 
notice  anything  so  ridiculous  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  immediately.  After  a  while  she 
said :  "  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  say  it,  but — Hartley  is 
sensitive.  A  copy  of  the  paper  got  to  him." 

"  One  to  me.     One  to  you.     One  to  him." 

"  No  matter,"  said  she.     "  The  mischief  is  done." 

"  You  do  not  give  up  a  friend  lightly,"  rejoined  I. 
The  time  to  speak  was  at  hand ;  I  welcomed  it. 

"  He  has  asked  me  to  give  you  up,"  said  she  simply. 
«  And  I  shall  do  it." 

"  But  he  has  no  right  to  ask  such  a  thing,"  pro 
tested  I. 

"  Yes — he  has.  He  and  I  are  engaged — you  knew 
that?" 

"  I  imagined  there  was  some  sort  of  an  engage 
ment,"  said  I,  still  waiting  for  the  right  opening. 

"  There  is  only  one  sort  of  engagement  possible 
with  me,"  replied  she,  with  a  certain  gentle  reproach. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  I.  "  But  I  remember  the  talk 
we  had  on  the  yacht." 

A  flush  overspread  her  paleness  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  rose  from  the  little  rustic  iron  chair.  "  We 
must  go,"  said  she. 

"  Wait,"  said  I.  And  I  made  a  tactless,  a  stupid 
beginning :  "  You  can't  deny  that  you  do  not  love 
him." 

364 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

She  turned  coldly  away  and  walked  on,  I  following., 
"  I  think  I'll  not  stop  for  tea,"  she  said.  "  Will  you 
hail  the  first  taxi  we  meet?  " 

"  You  are  offended — Mary?  "  I  said.  What  a  blun 
dering  fool  love  does  make  of  a  man ! — unless  he  makes 
a  fool  of  it. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No — not  offended.  But 
when  a  subject  comes  up  about  which  we  may  not  talk 
there  is  nothing  to  do  but  drop  it." 

In  my  desperation  I  reached  for  the  right  chord 
and  struck  it.  "  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  why  I  left 
the  yacht  abruptly  ?  " 

She  halted,  gave  me  a  swift,  frightened  glance. 
The  color  flooded  her  face,  then  fled. 

"  Yes — that  was  why,"  said  I.  "  And — I've  come 
as  soon  as  I  could." 

"Oh,  why,  why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  cried  she. 
Then,  before  I  could  answer,  "  I  don't  mean  that.  I 
understand."  Then,  with  a  wild  look  around,  "  What 
am  I  saying?  " 

"  I've  come  for  you,  Mary,"  I  went  on.  "  And  you 
are  not  going  to  rush  into  folly  a  second  time — a 
greater  folly.  For — you  do  not  love  him — and  you  will 
care  for  me.  You  are  right,  we  can't  discuss  him — you 
and  him.  But  we  can,  and  must,  discuss  you  and  me." 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again,"  said  she,  looking  at  me 
with  tranquil  eyes  that  would  have  daunted  me  had  I 
not  known  her  so  well,  understood  her  so  well — which  is 
only  another  way  of  saying,  had  I  not  loved  her  so  well. 

"  Why   have  you  been   seeing  me   day  after   day, 

when  you  knew  that  I  loved  you " 

24  365 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  replied  she.  "  I  did  not  think 
I  could  move  you  in  the  least — beyond  a  friendly  liking." 

An  inflection  in  her  voice  made  me  suddenly  realize. 
66  You  came  because  it  made  you  happy  to  come !  "  I 
cried  triumphantly.  I  caught  her  hand.  "  You  do 
care,  Mary !  " 

She  drew  her  hand  away  resolutely.  "  I  shall  keep 
my  promise,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I  wish  to  hear  no 
more." 

"  You  will  not  keep  your  promise.  If  necessary 
I'll  go  to  him  and  tell  him — and  he'll  release  you." 

She  gave  me  a  look  that  withered.  "  You — do  a 
cowardly  thing  like  that !  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  But  you  will  ask  him  to  release 
you.  You  have  no  right  to  marry  him.  And  I — I 
love  you — and  must  live  my  life  with  you,  or — I  can 
think  of  nothing  more  futile  and  empty  than  life  with 
out  you.  And  your  life — would  it  not  be  futile  and 
empty,  Mary,  if  you  tried  to  live  it  without  me,  when 
we  might  have  been  together  ?  Together ! — you  and  I ! 
Mary,  my  love !  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  those  things,  Godfrey? "  she 
cried  passionately.  "  To  make  me  wretched?  To 
make  it  harder  for  me  to  do  what  I  must?  " 

"  To  make  it  impossible  for  you  to  do  what  you 
must  not.  Marry  a  man  you  don't  love — marry  him 
when  you  love  another !  You'd  be  doing  him  the  worst 
possible  injury.  No  matter  how  much  he  loves  you,  he 
can  recover  from  the  blow  of  losing  you.  But  the  day 
to  day  horror  of  such  a  loveless  marriage  would  de 
stroy  you  both.  He  is  a  sensitive  man.  He  would  feel 

366 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

it,  in  spite  of  all  your  efforts  to  pretend.  You — pre 
tend!  You  could  not  do  it." 

66  After  what  has  passed  between  him  and  me — the 
promises  we've  exchanged — the  plans  we've  made — 
there  is  no  going  back !  I  don't  wish  to  go  back.  I " 

"  Mary — I  love  you !  "  I  cried.  "  I  love  you — and 
you  love  me.  That's  the  wall  between  you  and  any  other 
man,  between  me  and  any  other  woman." 

She  had  waved  to  a  passing  taxi.  It  swept  into  the 
edge  of  the  drive.  She  opened  the  door.  "  You  are 
not  coming  with  me,"  she  said.  "  And  I  shall  not  see 
you  again." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  her  arm  and  forced  her  to  meet 
my  gaze.  "  You  are  hysterical  now,"  I  said.  "  But 
you  will  be  calm,  and " 

She  gave  me  a  cold  smile — it  would  have  deceived 
those  who  do  not  understand  the  temperaments  that  can 
conceal  themselves.  "  I  am  perfectly  calm,  I  assure 
you,"  said  she. 

"  As  you  were  the  first  time  we  ever  met,"  said  I. 
"  You've  no  right  to  marry  any  man  but  me,  Mary. 
If  you  did  you'd  be  wronging  yourself — me — him  most 
of  all.  That  is  the  truth,  and  you  will  see  it." 

She  dragged  her  arm  away,  burst  into  violent  sobs, 
sank  upon  the  seat  of  the  cab.  I  hesitated — obeyed  a 
right  instinct,  closed  the  door,  gave  her  address  to  the 
ignoring  chauffeur,  stood  watching  the  cab  whisk  away. 
I  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  But  I  had  no  fear 
for  the  outcome.  I  knew  that  I  had  won — that  we  had 
won. 


XI 


ROSSITER — I  believe  I  have  mentioned  the  name  of 
my  new  secretary — was  lying  in  wait  for  me  at  the  hotel 
entrance.  He  read  me  a  telegram  from  Margot :  Edna 
was  ill,  was  not  expected  to  live,  begged  me  to  come  at 
once. 

I  wrote  to  Mary  Kirkwood — a  brief  repetition  of 
what  I  had  said  to  her — "  of  what  I  know  both  your 
intelligence  and  your  heart  are  saying  to  you,  dear."  I 
told  her  that  Edna  was  desperately  ill  and  had  sent  for 
me,  and  that  I  should  be  back  as  soon  as  I  could  get 
away.  I  went  on  to  say  many  things  such  as  a  man 
deeply  in  love  always  says.  No  doubt  it  was  a  common 
place  letter,  as  sincere  love  letters  are  apt  to  be;  but 
because  it  was  from  my  heart  I  felt  that,  for  all  the 
shortcomings,  it  would  go  to  her  heart.  I  admit  I  am 
not  a  facile  love-maker.  I  have  had  little  practice. 
And  I  suspect,  those  who  are  facile  at  love-making  have 
got  their  facility  by  making  love  speeches  so  often  when 
they  were  not  in  earnest  that  they  cannot  but  have  lost 
all  capacity  to  be  in  earnest. 

Toward  noon  the  next  day  Rossiter  and  I  and  my 
valet  were  set  down  at  the  little  station  of  Kesson  Wells, 
half  an  hour  out  from  London  in  Surrey.  We  were  in 
the  midst  of  about  as  beautiful  a  country  as  I  have  seen. 
I  am  a  narrow  enough  patriot  not  to  take  the  most 

368 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

favorable  view  of  things  foreign.  But  I  must  admit 
that  no  other  countryside  can  give  one  the  sense  of  sheer 
loveliness  that  one  gets  in  certain  parts  of  England. 
I  am  glad  we  have  nothing  like  it  at  home ;  for  to  have  it 
means  rainy  weather  most  of  the  time,  and  serf  labor, 
and  landlord  selfishly  indifferent  to  the  misery  of  the 
poor  human  creatures  he  works  and  robs.  Still,  I  try 
to  forget  the  way  it  came  in  the  joy  of  the  thing  itself — 
as  you,  gentle  reader,  forget  the  suffering  and  death  of 
the  animals  that  make  the  artistic  and  delicious  course 
dinners  you  eat. 

We  were  received  with  much  ceremony  at  the  sta 
tion.  My  money  was  being  exercised  by  those  who  knew 
how  to  do  it.  After  a  drive  between  perfumed  and  blos 
soming  hedgerows  and  over  a  road  as  smooth  and  clean 
as  a  floor  we  came  to  Garton  Hall,  the  place  my  son- 
in-law  had  leased  until  his  new  house  should  be  ready. 
It  was  a  modern  house,  as  I  noted  with  relief  when  we 
were  still  afar  off,  and  while  not  large,  was  a  most  sat 
isfactory  embodiment  of  that  often  misused  and  often 
misunderstood  word  comfort.  To  live  in  the  luxurious 
yet  comfortable  comfort  obtainable  in  England  only — 
indoors,  in  its  steam-heated  or  Americanized  portions — • 
one  must  have  English  servants.  I  am  glad  we  do  not 
breed  English  servants  in  America ;  I  am  glad  that  when 
they  are  imported  they  soon  cease  to  be  the  models  of 
menial  perfection  they  are  at  home.  But  when  I  am  in 
England  I  revel  in  the  English  servant.  To  find  him 
at  his  best  you  must  see  him  serving  in  the  establishment 
of  a  great  noble.  And  my  son-in-law  was  that ;  and  the 
establishment  over  which  Margot  presided,  but  with 

369 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

which  she  was  not  permitted  to  interfere  in  the  smallest 
detail  because  of  her  utter  ignorance  of  all  the  "  vul 
garities  "  of  life,  as  became  a  true  lady  of  our  quaint 
American  brand — the  establishment  was  a  combination 
of  the  best  of  the  city  with  the  best  of  the  country,  a 
skillful  mingling  of  the  most  attractive  features  of  home, 
club,  and  hotel. 

My  first  question  at  the  station  had,  of  course,  been 
as  to  Mrs.  Loring.  I  was  assured  that  her  ladyship's 
mother  was  somewhat  better,  but  still  awaiting  the  dan 
gerous  crisis  of  the  fever.  Margot,  not  a  whit  less  girl 
ish  for  her  maternity,  met  me  in  the  doorway,  and  had 
the  nurse  there  with  the  boy — the  Earl  of  Gorse.  They 
said  he  looked  like  me — and  he  did,  though  I  do  not 
believe  they  thought  so.  Why  should  they  say  it?  I 
was  still  a  young  man  and  might  marry  again.  I  fancy 
the  same  prudent  instinct  prompted  them  to  give  him 
Godfrey  as  one  of  his  four  or  five  names.  Why  do  I 
think  they  did  not  believe  he  looked  like  me?  Because 
all  of  them  were  ashamed  of  everything  American.  In 
the  frequent  quarrels  between  Margot  and  Hugh,  he 
never  failed  to  use  the  shaft  that  would  surely  pierce 
the  heart  of  her  vanity  and  rankle  there — her  low  Amer 
ican  birth,  in  such  ghastly  and  grotesque  contrast  to  the 
illustrious  descent  of  her  husband.  She  had  an  acid 
tongue  when  it  came  to  quarreling ;  she  could  hurl  taunts 
about  his  shifts  to  keep  up  appearances  before  he  met 
her  that  made  ugly  and  painful  marks  on  his  hide.  She 
had  discovered,  probably  by  gossiping  with  some  traitor 
servant,  that  he  had  been  flouted  by  a  rich  English  girl 
for  a  chauffeur — and  you  may  be  sure  she  put  it  to 

370 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

good  use.  But  nothing  she  could  say  made  him  quiver 
as  she  quivered  when  he  opened  out  on  the  subject  of 
those  "  filthy  bounders  in  the  States." 

Do  not  imagine,  gentle  reader,  that  my  daughter 
was  unhappily  married.  She  would  not  have  exchanged 
places  with  anyone  but  the  wife  of  a  duke ;  and  Hugh — 
well,  he  needed  the  money.  Nor  should  you  think  that 
they  lived  unhappily  together.  They  saw  little  of  each 
other  alone ;  and  in  public  they  were  as  smiling  and 
amiable  with  each  other  as — perhaps  as  you  and  your 
husband. 

A  fine  baby  was  the  Earl  of  Gorse — one  who  in  a 
decent  environment  would  have  grown  up  a  sensible, 
useful  person.  But  hardly,  I  feared,  when  he  was  al 
ready  living  in  his  own  separate  apartment,  with  his 
name — "  The  Earl  of  Gorse  " — on  a  card  beside  the 
door,  and  with  all  the  servants,  including  his  mother, 
treating  him  as  if  he  were  of  superior  clay.  This  when 
he  barely  had  his  sight.  They  say  a  baby  learns  the 
utility  of  bawling  at  about  three  days  old ;  I  should  say 
the  germ  of  snobbishness  would  get  to  work  very  soon 
thereafter. 

You  are  waiting  to  hear  what  was  the  matter  with 
Edna.  No,  it  was  not  a  fake  illness  to  draw  me  within 
reach  for  some  further  trimming.  She  had  indeed  fallen 
dangerously  ill — did  not  expect  to  live  when  Margot 
telegraphed  me.  It  was  an  intestinal  fever  brought  on 
by  the  excesses  of  the  London  season.  I  wonder  when 
the  biographers,  poets,  playwrights,  novelists,  and  other 
gentry  who  give  us  the  annals  of  the  race  will  catch  up 
with  the  progress  of  science?  How  long  will  it  be  be- 

371 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

fore  they  stop  telling  us  of  germ  and  filth  diseases  as 
if  they  were  the  romantic  physical  expressions  of  soul 
states?  There  was  a  time  when  such  blunders  were  ex 
cusable.  Now,  science  has  shown  us  that  they  are  so 
much  twaddle.  So,  gentle  reader,  I  cannot  gratify  your 
taste  for  humbug  and  moonshine  by  telling  you  that 
Edna  was  stricken  of  remorse  or  of  overjoy  or  of  secret 
grief  or  of  any  other  soul  state  whatever.  The  doctor 
bosh  was,  of  course,  nervous  exhaustion.  It  always  is 
if  the  patient  is  above  the  working  class.  The  truth 
was  that  she  fell  ill,  even  as  you  and  I.  She  ate  and 
drank  too  much,  both  at  and  between  meals,  and  did 
not  take  proper  care  of  herself  in  any  way.  She  wore 
dresses  that  were  nearly  nothing  in  cold  carriages  and 
draughty  rooms,  when  she  was  laden  with  undigested 
food.  Vulgar — isn't  it?  Revolting  for  me  to  speak 
thus  of  a  lady?  But  I  am  trying  to  tell  the  truth, 
gentle  reader,  not  to  increase  your  stock  of  slop  and 
lies  which  you  call  "  culture."  And  if  a  lady  will  put 
herself  in  such  a  condition,  why  should  it  not  be  spoken 
of?  Why  go  on  lying  about  these  things,  and  encourag 
ing  people  to  attribute  to  sensitive  nerves  and  souls  the 
consequences  of  gluttony,  ignorance,  and  neglect? 

I  am  not  criticising  Edna  for  getting  into  such  an 
internal  physical  state  that  a  pestilence  began  to  rage 
within  her.  The  most  intelligent  of  us  is  only  too  fool 
ish  and  ignorant  in  these  matters,  thanks  to  stupid  edu 
cation  from  childhood  up.  And  she  has  the  abided  ex 
cuse  of  having  been  exposed  to  the  temptations  of  a 
London  season.  She  fell;  it  is  hardly  in  human  nature 
not  to  fall. 

372 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

You  have  been  through  a  London  season?  It  is  a 
mad  chase  from  food  to  food.  You  rise  and  hastily 
swallow  a  heavy  English  breakfast.  You  ride  in  the 
Row  a  while,  ride  toward  a  lunch  table — and  an  English 
lunch,  especially  in  the  season,  means  a  bigger  dinner 
than  any  Frenchman  or  other  highly  civilized  person 
ever  willingly  sat  down  to.  Hardly  is  this  long  lunch 
over  before  it  is  time  for  tea — which  means  not  merely 
tea,  but  toast,  and  sandwiches,  and  hot  muffins,  and 
many  kinds  of  heavy  cake,  and  often  fruit  or  jam.  Tea 
is  to  give  you  an  appetite  for  the  dinner  that  follows — 
and  what  a  dinner!  One  rich,  heavy  course  upon  an 
other,  with  drenchings  of  wine  and  a  poisonous 'liqueur 
afterward.  You  sit  about  until  this  has  settled  a  bit, 
then — on  to  supper !  Not  so  formidable  a  meal  as  the 
dinner,  but  still  what  any  reasonable  person  would  call 
a  square  meal.  Then  to  bed?  By  no  means.  On  to  a 
ball,  where  you  eat  and  drink  in  desultory  fashion  until 
late  supper  is  served.  You  roll  heavily  home  to  sleep. 
But  hardly  have  your  eyes  closed  when  you  are  roused  to 
eat  again.  It  is  breakfast  time,  and  another  day  of 
stuffing  has  begun. 

Starvation,  they  tell  me,  is  one  of  the  regular  causes 
of  death  in  London.  But  that  is  in  the  East  End.  In 
the  West  End — and  you,  gentle  reader,  are  interested 
only  in  that  section — death,  I'll  wager,  reaps  twenty 
from  overfeeding  to  one  he  gets  in  the  East  End  through 
underfeeding.  Famine  is  a  dreadful  thing.  But  how 
characteristic  of  the  shallowness  of  human  beings  it  is 
that  you  can  make  a  poetic  horror  out  of  famine,  when 
no  one  would  listen  while  you  told  the  far  more  horrible 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

truth  of  the  frightful  ravages  of  overfeeding,  chief 
cause  of  all  the  diseases  that  torture  and  twist  the  human 
body,  aging  and  killing  it  prematurely. 

Edna  had  been  for  many  years  most  cautiously  care 
ful  of  her  health.  She  loved  her  youth,  her  beautiful 
body.  She  fought  against  her  natural  fondness  for  , 
food  and  wine.  I  fancy  that,  for  this  first  season  after 
freedom  she  relaxed  her  rules,  and  turned  herself  loose  to 
"  celebrate."  I  know  she  must  have  had  something  of 
this  sort  in  mind,  because  her  French  maid — I  could  not 
talk  with  the  Italian — told  me  that  madame  had  ar 
ranged  an  elaborate  programme  of  "  cures  "  on  the  Con 
tinent  after  the  season.  "  And  they  were  to  be  serious 
cures,"  said  she. 

Her  illness  took  such  a  course  of  ups  and  downs,  with 
death  always  hovering,  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
leave.  I  wrote  Mary ;  I  got  no  reply.  I  sent  Rossiter 
to  Paris ;  he  reported  that  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Mrs. 
Kirkwood  had  left  for  the  country,  but  that  he  could 
get  no  address. 

You  probably  picture  me  as  scarcely  able  to  restrain 
myself  from  acting  like  a  madman.  How  little  you 
know  of  me !  Do  you  think  I  could  have  achieved  my 
solid  success  before  I  reached  forty-five  years  if  I  had  , 
been  one  of  the  little  people  who  fret  and  fume  against  ' 
the  inevitable?  All  men  who  amount  to  anything  are 
violent  men.  Jesus,  the  model  of  serenity  and  patience, 
scourged  the  money  changers  from  the  temple.  Wash 
ington,  one  more  great  exemplar  of  the  majesty  of  re 
pose,  swore  like  a  lunatic  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth. 
These  great  ones  simply  had  in  the  highest  form  the 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

virtues  that  make  for  success  in  every  department 
of  leadership.  Certainly,  I  am  a  violent  man;  but  I 
have  rarely  been  foolish  enough  to  go  crazy  to  no 
purpose. 

What  could  I  do  but  wait?  And  over  that  beauti 
ful,  quiet  country  place  floated  the  black  cormorant, 
with  wings  outspread  and  hollow,  burning  eyes  bent 
eagerly  downward.  I  Baited,  not  in  fury,  but  oppressed 
by  a  deep  melancholy.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
was  thinking  seriously  of  death.  To  any  man  no  de 
cisive  event  of  life  is  so  absolutely  unimportant  as  his 
own  death.  I  never  have  wasted,  and  never  shall  waste, 
a  moment  in  thinking  of  my  death.  It  may  concern 
others,  but  how  does  it  concern  me?  When  it  comes  I 
shall  not  be  there.  The  death  of  another,  however — 
that  is  cause  for  reflection,  for  sadness.  I  knew,  as  did 
no  one  else,  how  intensely  Edna  loved  life,  how  in  her 
own  way  of  strain  and  struggle  she  enjoyed  it.  And  to 
me  it  was  pitiful,  this  spectacle  of  her  sudden  arrest,  her 
sudden  mortal  peril,  as  she  was  about  to  achieve  the 
summit  of  her  ambition. 

I  wondered  as  to  Frascatoni.  I  pictured  him  wait 
ing,  with  those  tranquil,  weary  eyes  already  looking 
about  for  another  means  to  his  aim  of  large  fortune 
should  this  means  fail.  There  I  misjudged  him;  for, 
one  day  as  I  stood  in  a  balcony  overlooking  the  drive  he 
came  rushing  up  in  a  motor,  and  my  first  glance  at  his 
haggard  face  told  me  that  he  loved  her.  In  a  way  it  is 
small  compliment  to  a  woman  to  be  loved  by  the  fortune- 
hunting  sort  of  man ;  for,  he  does  not  release  himself 
until  he  has  the  permit  of  basest  self-interest.  But 

375 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Frascatoni,  having  released  himself,  had  fallen  in  love 
with  all  the  frenzy  of  his  super-refined,  passionately 
imaginative  nature. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  drove  away.  I  do  not  know 
what  occurred — naturally,  they  would  not  speak  of  his 
call  and  I  did  not  ask  questions.  I  can  imagine,  how 
ever.  She  seemed  better  that  day,  and  he  must  have 
gone  away  reassured.  He  was  sending,  every  morning, 
enormous  quantities  of  flowers ;  such  skill  and  taste 
showed  in  the  arranging  that  I  am  sure  it  was  not  the 
usual  meaningless  performance  of  rich  people,  who  arc 
always  trying  to  make  money-spending  serve  instead  of 
thoughtful  and  delicate  attention. 

Nearly  a  month  dragged  along  before  she  was  able 
to  see  me.  As  I  have  explained,  her  beauty  was  not 
dependent  upon  evanescent  charms  of  contour  and  color 
ing,  but  was  securely  founded  in  the  structure  of  her 
head  and  face  and  body.  So,  I  saw  lying  weakly  in  the 
bed  an  emaciated  but  lovely  Edna.  Instantly,  on  sight 
of  her,  there  came  flooding  back  to  me  the  memory  of 
the  birth  of  Margot,  our  first  child — how  Edna  had 
looked  when  they  let  me  go  into  the  humble,  almost 
squalid  little  bedroom  in  the  flat  of  which  we  were  so 
vain.  She  was  looking  exactly  so  in  this  bed  of  state, 
in  this  magnificent  room  with  the  evidences  of  wealth 
and  rank  and  fashion  on  every  side.  She  smiled  faintly ; 
one  of  the  slim  weak  hands  lying  upon  the  cream-white 
silk  coverlet  moved.  I  bent  and  kissed  it. 

"  Thank  you  for  being  here,"  she  murmured,  tears 
in  her  eyes.  Her  lips  could  scarcely  utter  the  words. 

"  You  must  not  speak,  your  ladyship,"  warned  the 
376 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

nurse.  To  flatter  Americans  and  to  give  themselves  the 
comfortable  feeling  of  gratified  snobbishness  English 
servants  address  us — or  rather  our  women — as  if  we  had 
titles. 

"  You  are  to  get  well  rapidly  now,"  I  said. 

"  You'll  stay  until  I  can  talk  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said — what  else  could  I  say? 

They  motioned  me  away.  I  had  committed  myself 
to  several  weeks  more  of  that  futile  monotony — and  I  no 
longer  had  the  restraint  of  the  sense  that  she  might  die 
at  any  moment. 

Even  had  I  been  willing  to  break  my  promise  I  could 
not  have  done  so ;  for  she  would  have  me  in  every  morn 
ing  and  every  afternoon  to  look  at  me,  and  they  told 
me  that  if  I  were  not  there  to  reassure  her,  it  would 
undoubtedly  cause  a  change  for  the  worse.  I  stayed 
on  and  wrote  to  Mary  Kirkwood — all  the  time  with  the 
fear  that  my  letters  were  not  reaching  her,  but  also 
with  the  unshakable  conviction  that  she  was  mine.  You 
smile  at  this  as  proof  of  my  colossal  vanity.  Well,  your 
smile  convicts  you  of  never  having  loved.  The  essence 
of  love  is  congeniality.  Appetite  is  the  essence  of  pas 
sion — which,  therefore,  has  no  sense  of  or  especial  de 
sire  for  mutuality.  Passion  is  as  common  as  any  other 
physical  appetite.  Love  is  as  rare  as  are  souls  generous 
enough  to  experience  or  to  inspire  it.  The  essence  of 
love  is  congeniality — and  I  knew  there  was  a  sympathy 
and  understanding  between  me  and  Mary  Kirkwood  that 
made  us  lovers  for  all  time. 

There  came  a  day — how  it  burned  into  my  memory ! 
— when  Edna  was  well  enough  to  talk  with  me.  Several 

377 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

days  beforehand  I  saw  that  it  was  not  far  away,  and  I 
awaited  it  with  fierce  impatience;  she  would  tell  me 
why  she  had  sent  for  me  and  I  should  be  free  to  go.  It 
was  one  of  those  soft  gray  days  of  alternating  rain 
and  sun  that  are  the  specialty  of  the  British  climate. 
Edna,  with  flowers  everywhere  in  her  sitting  room,  was 
half  reclining  in  an  invalid  chair,  all  manner  of  rich, 
delicate  silk  and  lace  assistants  to  comfort,  luxury  and 
beauty  adorning  her  or  forming  background  for  her 
lovely  face  and  head.  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  detail 
of  the  room  or  of  her  appearance  that  I  could  not 
reproduce,  though  at  the  time  I  was  unaware  of  any 
thing  but  her  voice — her  words. 

I  entered,  seated  myself  in  the  broad  low  window 
opposite  her.  She  looked  at  me  a  long  time,  a  strange 
soft  expression  in  her  weary  eyes — an  expression  that 
disquieted  me.  At  last  she  said: 

"  It  is  so  good  to  be  getting  well." 

"  And  you  are  getting  well  rapidly,"  I  said.  "  You 
have  a  wonderful  constitution." 

"  You  are  glad  I  am  better,  Godfrey?  " 

I  laughed.     "  What  a  foolish  question." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  she.  "  I  feared —  I  have 
acted  so  badly  toward  you." 

"  No  indeed,"  replied  I.  "  Don't  worry  about  those 
things.  I  hope  you  feel  as  friendly  toward  me  as  I  do 
toward  you." 

"  But  you  have  always  been  good  to  me — even  when 
I  haven't  deserved  it." 

This  was  most  puzzling.  Said  I  vaguely,  "  I  guess 
we've  both  done  the  best  we  could.  Do  you  want  to 

378 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

tell  me  to-day  why  you  sent  for  me?  Or  don't  you  feel 
strong  enough?  " 

"  Yes — I  wish  to  tell  you  to-day.  But — it  isn't 
easy  to  say.  I'm  very  proud,  Godfrey — and  when  I've 
been  in  the  wrong  it's  hard  for  me  to  admit." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Edna,"  said  I  soothingly.  "  Let's 
not  rake  up  the  past.  It's  finished — and  it  has  left  no 
hard  feeling — at  least  not  in  me.  Don't  think  of  any 
thing  but  of  getting  well." 

She  lay  gazing  out  into  the  gentle  rain  with  the 
sunshine  glistening  upon  it.  A  few  large  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  unhappy  about,"  said  I. 
"  You  are  far  on  the  way  to  health.  You  are  as  lovely 
as  ever.  And  you  will  get  everything  you  want." 

"  Oh,  it's  so  hard  to  tell  you !  "  she  sighed. 

"  Then  don't,"  I  urged.  "  If  there's  anything  I 
can  do  for  you,  let  me  know.  I'll  be  glad  to  do  it." 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  thin,  beautiful  hand. 
"  Love  me — love  me,  Godfrey — as  you  used  to,"  she 
sobbed. 

I  was  dumfounded.  It  seemed  to  me  I  could  not 
have  heard  aright.  I  stared  at  her  until  she  lowered 
her  hand  and  looked  at  me.  Then  I  hastily  glanced 
away. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  the  way  I've  acted,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  want  you  to  take  me  back.  That  was  why  I  sent 
for  you." 

I  puzzled  over  this.  Was  she  still  out  of  her  mind? 
Or  was  there  some  other  and  sane — and  extremely  prac 
tical — reason  behind  this  strange  turn? — for  I  could 

379 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

not  for  an  instant  imagine  she  was  in  sane  and  sober 
earnest. 

"  You  don't  believe  me !  "  she  cried.  "  No  wonder. 
But  it's  so,  Godfrey.  I  want  your  love — I  want  you. 
Won't  you — won't  you — take  me — back?  " 

Her  voice  sounded  pitifully  sick  and  weak ;  and  when 
I  looked  at  her  I  could  not  but  see  that  to  refuse  to 
humor  her  would  be  to  endanger  her  life.  I  said: 

"  Edna,  this  is  an  utter  surprise  for  me — about  the 
last  thing  I  expected.  I  can't  grasp  it — so  suddenly. 
I — I —  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  " 

"  I  really  mean  it,  dear,"  she  said  earnestly. 

It  was  evident  she,  in  her  secret  heart,  was  taking  it 
for  granted  that  her  news  would  be  welcome  to  me; 
that  all  she  had  to  do  in  order  to  win  me  back  as  her 
devoted,  enslaved  husband  was  to  announce  her  willing 
ness  to  come.  I  have  often  marveled  at  this  peculiar 
vanity  of  women — their  deep,  abiding  belief  in  the  power 
of  their  own  charms — the  all  but  impossibility  of  a 
man's  ever  convincing  a  woman  that  he  does  not  love 
her.  They  say  hope  is  the  hardiest  of  human  emotions. 
I  doubt  it.  I  think  vanity,  especially  the  sex  vanity 
both  of  men  and  of  women,  is  far  and  away  hardier 
than  even  hope.  I  saw  she  was  assuming  I  would  be 
delighted,  deeply  grateful,  ardently  responsive  as  soon 
as  I  should  grasp  the  dazzling  glad  tidings.  And  she 
so  ill  and  weak  that  I  dared  not  speak  at  all  frankly 
to  her. 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  for  mine.  I  slowly  took 
it,  held  it  listlessly.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do — what 
to  say. 

380 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  It  is  so  good  to  have  you  again,  dear,"  she  mur 
mured.  "Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me?  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  muttered,  dropping  her 
hand  and  standing  up  to  gaze  out  over  the  gardens. 
"  I  am  stunned." 

"  I've  been  cruel  to  you,"  she  said  with  gracious 
humility.  "  Can  you  ever  forgive  me?  " 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive.  But — "  There  I 
halted. 

"  I'll  make  up  for  it,  dear,"  she  went  on,  sweetly 
gracious.  "  I'm  not  surprised  that  you  are  stunned. 
You  didn't  realize  how  I  loved  you.  I  didn't 
myself.  I  couldn't  believe  at  first  when  I  found 
out." 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  talk  about  these 
things  to-day,"  said  I.  "  We'll  wait  until " 

She  interrupted  my  hesitating  speech  with  a  laugh 
full  of  gentle  gayety.  "  You're  quite  wrong,"  said  she. 
"  I'm  not  out  of  my  mind.  I  mean  it,  dear — and  more. 
Oh,  we  shall  be  so  happy !  You've  been  far  too  modest 
about  yourself.  You  don't  appreciate  what  a  fascinat 
ing  man  you  are." 

I'm  sure  I  reddened  violently.  I  sat,  rose,  sat  again. 
"  You've  given  me  the  shock  of  my  life,"  said  I,  with 
an  embarrassed  laugh.  "  I'll  have  to  think  this  over." 
I  rose. 

"  No — don't  go  yet,"  said  she,  with  the  gracious- 
ness  of  a  princess  granting  a  longer  interview.  "  Let 
me  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Not  to-day,"  I  pleaded.     "  You  must  be  carefuL 
You  mustn't  overtax  yourself." 
25  381 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Oh,  but  this  does  me  good.  Sit  near  me,  Godfrey, 
and  hold  my  hand  while  I  tell  you." 

I  felt  like  one  closeted  with  an  insane  person  and 
compelled  to  humor  his  caprices.  I  obediently  shifted 
to  a  seat  near  her  and  took  her  hand. 

"  You  could  never  guess  how  it  came  about,"  she 
went  on. 

As  she  was  looking  inquiringly  at  me,  I  said,  "  No." 

"  It  was  very  strange.  For  the  first  few  weeks  after 
the  divorce — no,  not  the  divorce — but  the  decree — for 
it  isn't  a  divorce  yet,  thank  God! — for  the  first  weeks 
I  was  happy — or  thought  I  was.  I  went  early  and  late. 
I  had  never  been  so  gay.  I  acted  like  a  girl  just 
launched  in  society.  I  was  in  ecstasies  over  my  free 
dom.  Do  you  mind,  dear?  Does  it  hurt  you  for  me 
to  say  these  things  ?  " 

"  No— no,"  said  I.     "  Go  on." 

"  How  queer  you  are !  But  I  suppose  you  are  dazed, 
poor  dear.  Never  mind !  When  I  am  better — stronger, 
I'll  soon  convince  you."  And  she  nodded  and  smiled 
at  me.  "  Poor  dear  !  How  cruel  I  have  been !  " 

"  Yes — we'll  wait  till  you  are  stronger,"  stammered 
I,  making  a  move  to  rise. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you  how  it  came  about,"  she  said, 
detaining  me.  "  All  of  a  sudden — when  I  was  at  my 
gayest — I  began  to  feel  strange  and  sad — to  dislike 
everyone  and  everything  about  me." 

"  It  was  the  illness  working  in  you,"  said  I. 

She  gave  the  smile  of  gentle  tolerance  with  which 
she  received  my  attempts  at  humor  when  she  was  in  an 
amiable  mood.  "  How  like  you  that  is !  But  it  wasn't 

382 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  illness  at  all.  It  was  my  inmost  heart  striving  to 
force  open  its  door  and  reveal  its  secret.  Do  be  a  little 
romantic,  this  once,  dear." 

"Well— and  then?" 

"  Then — a  paragraph  in  one  of  the  society  papers. 
Some  one  sent  it  to  me  anonymously.  Was  it  you, 
dear? — and  did  you  do  it  to  make  me  jealous?  " 

She  spoke  as  one  who  suddenly  sees  straight  into  a 
secret.  "  I  didn't,"  said  I  hastily.  "  It  never  entered 
my  head  to  think  you  cared  a  rap  about  me." 

"  Now,  don't  tease  me,  Godfrey,  dear.  You  must 
have  been  making  all  sorts  of  plans  to  win  me  back." 

"  You  read  the  item  in  the  paper  ?  "  suggested  I. 

"  Oh,  yes — I  must  finish.  I  read  it.  And  at  first 
I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  said  to  myself  I  didn't 
in  the  least  cars.  But  I  couldn't  get  the  thing  out  of 
mind.  Godfrey,  I  had  always  been  too  sure  of  you. 
You  never  seemed  to  be  a  single  tiny  bit  interested  in 
other  women.  So  the  thought  of  you  and  another 
woman  had  not  once  come  to  me.  That  item  put  it 
there.  You — my  husband — my  Godfrey  and  another 
woman  ?  It  was  like  touching  a  match  to  powder.  I 
went  made  I " 

She  was  sitting  up,  her  eyes  wild,  her  voice  trem 
bling.  "  You  must  not  excite  yourself,  Edna,"  I  said. 

"  I  went  mad,"  she  repeated,  so  interested  in  her 
emotions  that  she  probably  did  not  hear  me.  "  I  rushed 
down  to  Margot.  I  fell  ill.  I  made  her  telegraph  for 
you.  Oh,  how  I  suffered  until  I  knew  you  were  here. 
If  you  hadn't  come  right  away  I'd  have  cabled  to  my 
lawyer  in  New  York  to  have  the  divorce  set  aside — or 

383 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

whatever  thej  do.  I  can  have  it  set  aside  any  time  up 
to  the  end  of  the  six  months,  can't  I?  " 

"  Yes,"  admitted  I,  though  her  tone  of  positive 
knowledge  made  my  reply  superfluous. 

She  seemed  instinctively  to  feel  a  suspicion — an 
explanation  of  her  amazing  about-face — that  was  slowly 
gathering  in  my  bewildered  mind.  She  drew  from  the 
folds  of  her  negligee  a  note  and  handed  it  to  me.  She 
said: 

"  I  haven't  confessed  the  worst  I  had  done.  Read 
that." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I.    "  I  don't  wish  to  know." 

"  But  I  wish  you  to  know,"  insisted  she.  "  There 
mustn't  be  anything  dark  between  us." 

I  reluctantly  opened  the  note  and  read.  It  was 
from  Prince  Frascatoni — not  the  cold  bid  for  a  break 
that  my  suspicion  expected  but  a  passionate  appeal  to 
her  not  to  break  their  engagement  and  throw  him  over. 
I  could  by  no  reach  of  the  imagination  picture  that 
calm,  weary-eyed  man  of  the  world  writing  those  lines 
— which  shows  how  ill  men  understand  each  other  where 
women  are  concerned. 

"  He  sent  me  that  note  the  day  I  came  here,"  said 
she.  "  I  did  not  answer  it."  Her  tone  was  supreme 
indifference — the  peculiar  cruelty  of  woman  toward 
man  when  she  does  not  care. 

"  You  were  engaged  to  him  ?  "  said  I — because  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say. 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  Then  with  the  chaste  pride  of 
the  "  good  "  woman,  "  But  not  until  after  the  decree 
was  granted.  He  would  have  declared  himself  in  New 

884 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

York,  but  I  wouldn't  permit  that.  At  least,  Godfrey, 
I  never  forgot  with  other  men  that  I  was  your  wife — 
or  let  them  forget  it.  You  believe  me?  " 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  I. 

She  gazed  dreamily  into  vacancy.  "  To  think,"  she 
mused,  "  that  I  imagined  I  could  marry  him — any  man ! 
How  little  a  woman  knows  her  own  heart.  I  always  loved 
you.  Godfrey,  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  divorce — not  for  a  good  woman.  When  she  gives- 
herself  " — in  a  dreamy,  musical  voice,  with  a  tender 
pressure  of  my  hand — "  it  is  for  time  and  for  eternity." 

Never  in  all  my  life  had  I  so  welcomed  anyone  as  I 
welcomed  the  interrupting  nurse.  I  felt  during  the 
whole  interview  that  I  was  under  a  strain;  until  I  was 
in  the  open  air  and  alone  I  did  not  realize  how  terrific 
the  strain.  I  walked — on  and  on,  like  a  madman — vault 
ing  gates  and  fences,  scrambling  over  hedges,  plowing 
through  gardens,  leaping  brooks — on  and  on,  hour 
after  hour.  What  should  I  do?  What  could  I  do? 
Nothing  but  wait  until  she  was  out  of  danger,  wait  and 
study  away  at  this  incredible,  impossible  freak  of  hers — 
try  to  fathom  it,  if  it  was  not  the  vagary  of  a  diseased 
mind.  I  wished  to  believe  it  that,  but  I  could  not. 
There  was  nothing  of  insanity  in  her  manner,  and  from  , 
beginning  to  end  her  story  was  coherent  and  plausible.  / 
Plausible,  but  not  believable;  for  I  had  no  more  vanity 
about  her  loving  me  than  has  the  next  man  when  he 
does  not  want  the  love  offered  him  and  finds  it  incon 
venient  to  credit,  and  so  is  in  the  frame  of  mind  to  see 
calmly  and  clearly. 

I  wandered  so  far  that  I  had  to  hire  a  conveyance  at 
385 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

some  village  at  which  I  halted  toward  nightfall.  As 
soon  as  I  was  at  the  house  I  ordered  my  valet  to  pack, 
and  wrote  Edna  a  note  saying  that  neglected  business 
compelled  me  to  bolt  for  London.  "  But  I'll  be  back,"  I 
wrote,  at  the  command  of  human  decency.  "  I  feel  that 
I  can  go,  as  you  are  almost  well."  Half  an  hour  later 
I  was  in  the  train  for  London. 

A  letter,  feebly  scrawled,  came  from  her  the  next  day 
but  one — a  brief  loving  note,  saying  that  she  understood 
and  that  I  knew  how  eagerly  she  was  looking  forward 
to  my  return — "  but  don't  worry,  dearest,  about  me.  I 
shall  soon  be  well,  now  that  my  conscience  is  clear  and 
all  is  peace  and  love  between  us.  I  know  how  you  hate 
to  write  letters,  but  you  will  telegraph  me  every  day." 

How  I  got  through  those  next  few  weeks  I  cannot 
tell.  I  had  no  sense  of  the  reality  of  the  world  about  me 
or  of  my  own  thoughts  and  actions.  Every  once  in  a 
while — sometimes  when  I  was  talking  with  the  men  whose 
company  I  sought,  again  when  I  was  alone  in  bed  and 
would  start  abruptly  from  sleep — I  pinched  myself  or 
struck  myself  violently  to  see  if  I  was  awake.  Edna's 
letters  were  daily  and  long.  I  read  them,  stared  at  them, 
felt  less  certain  than  ever  of  my  sanity  or  of  my  being 
awake.  I  sent  her  an  occasional  telegram,  dictated  to 
Rossiter — a  vague  sentence  of  congratulation  on  her 
better  health  or  something  of  that  kind.  Soon  this  for 
mality  degenerated  to  a  request  to  Rossiter :  "  And  tele 
graph  Mrs.  Loring."  Or  he  would  say,  "  Shall  I  send 
Mrs.  Loring  a  telegram?"  and  I  would  reply,  "Yes 
— do  please." 

386 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

It  was  obviously  necessary  that  I  should  not  see  her 
before  she  was  well  enough  to  be  talked  to  frankly.  I 
invented  excuses  for  staying  away  until  my  ability  in 
that  direction  gave  out.  Then  Rossiter,  best  of  secre 
taries,  divining  my  plight,  came  to  the  rescue.  I  gave 
him  a  free  hand.  He  went  too  far,  created  in  her  predis 
posed  mind  the  illusion  that  I  was  champing  with  im 
patience  at  the  business  that  persisted  in  keeping  me 
away  from  her.  I  do  not  blame  him ;  he  took  the  only 
possible  course. 

At  last  she  was  completely  restored.  The  doctors 
and  nurses  could  find  no  pretext  for  lingering,  and  that 
in  itself  was  proof  positive  of  her  health  and  strength. 
She  was  having  her  meals  with  the  family,  was  attending 
to  her  correspondence,  was  alarmed  because  she  was  tak 
ing  on  flesh  so  rapidly.  She  began  offering  to  join  me 
in  London.  When  she  wrote  that  she  was  starting  the 
next  day  I  telegraphed  her  not  to  come ;  and,  after  four 
more  days  of  delay  on  various  excuses,  I  went  down.  I 
should  have  liked  to  postpone  this  interview  a  week  or 
ten  days.  Again  I  see  you  smiling  at  me,  posing  as 
madly  in  love  with  Mary  Kirkwood  yet  able  to  put  off 
the  joy  of  being  free  to  go  to  her.  But,  gentle  reader, 
you  must  not  forget  that  I  had  first  to  deal  with  Edna. 
And,  from  what  you  have  learned  of  her,  do  you  think 
I  was  wise  or  foolish  to  wish  to  meet  her  only  when  she 
could  not  possibly  prevent  candor  by  pleading  a  rem 
nant  of  invalidism? 

She  was  charmingly  dressed  to  receive  me,  rushed 
forward  before  them  all  and  flung  her  arms  around  my 
neck  in  a  graceful,  effusive  fashion  she  had  learned  on 

387  - 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

the  Continent.  I  received  the  shock  as  calmly  as  I  could, 
noting  the  awkwardly  concealed  surprise  of  Margot  and 
Hugh.  We  had  lunch;  she  did  most  of  the  talking — a 
gay,  happy-hearted  rattling — the  natural  expression  of 
a  woman  with  not  a  care  in  the  world.  And  I —  In 
spite  of  myself  I  felt  like  an  executioner  come  to  assas 
sinate  an  unsuspicious  and  innocent  victim.  For  the 
best  side  of  her  was  to  the  fore,  and  all  the  unpleasant 
traits  were  so  thoroughly  concealed  that  they  seemed  to 
have  been  burned  up  in  that  terrible  fever.  I  knew 
they  were  still  there,  but  I  could  not  feel  it. 

When  we  were  alone  in  her  sitting  room,  she  said: 

"  Where's  your  valet  and  your  luggage?  " 

"  In  London,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  they're  coming  on  a  later  train." 

"  No,"  said  I,  seizing  this  excellent  opportunity. 
""  I'm  going  back  this  afternoon." 

She  gave  a  cry  of  dismay.  "  Godfrey ! "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Isn't  it  a  shame ! "  Then,  rushing  to  the 
bell,  "  I'll  have  my  things  got  ready.  I'll  go  back  with 
you.  You  shan't  be  left  alone,  dearest." 

I  seated  myself.  "  Don't  ring,"  I  said.  "  Wait  till 
we've  talked  the  matter  over." 

"  I  see  you  can't  really  believe — even  yet,"  cried 
she  laughingly.  "  I  must  convince  you."  And  she  rang 
the  bell. 

"  When  your  maid  comes,  send  her  away,"  said  I. 
"  Don't  order  her  to  pack.  You  can't  go  with  me." 

She  looked  at  me  anxiously.  "  How  solemn  you 
are !  "  she  cried.  "  Has  something  gone  wrong  in  that 
business?  " 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Nothing,"  said  I.  The  maid  came,  was  sent  away. 
Edna  moved  toward  me,  would  have  sat  in  my  lap  or  on 
the  arm  of  my  chair  had  I  not  prevented  her  by  rising 
on  the  pretext  of  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  You  are  very — very — strange,"  said  she.  Then  ad 
vancing  toward  me  and  gazing  into  my  face,  "  Godfrey^ 
there  wasn't  any  truth  in  that  item — was  there?  "  She 
looked  like  a  sweet,  lovely  slip  of  a  girl,  all  tenderness 
and  sincerity. 

"  I've  come  to  discuss  our  affairs — not  malicious 
newspaper  gossip,"  said  I,  fighting  for  my  usual  man 
ner  of  good-humored  raillery.  "  First,  tell  me  what  is; 
the  meaning  of  this  outburst  of  affection  for  me?  Aren't- 
you  satisfied  with  the  settlements  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Godfrey,  what  a  cynic  you  are !  "  laughed  she* 
Then  with  an  air  of  earnestness  that  certainly  was  con 
vincing,  she  said:  "  Can't  you  feel  that  I  love  you?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  replied  I  blandly.  "  On  the  contrary,  I 
know  that  you  care  nothing  about  me.  So  let's  talk  busi 
ness  as  we  always  have." 

She  did  not  rave  and  vow  and  swear.  She  did  not 
show  the  least  excitement.  She  seated  herself  and,  fixing 
upon  me  a  look  which  I  can  only  describe  as  tenacious, 
she  said: 

"  Whether  you  believe  me  or  not,  I  love  you.  And  I 
shall  not  give  you  up." 

My  internal  agitation  instantly  cleared  away.  I 
am  always  nervous  about  crossing  a  bridge  until  my  foot 
touches  it;  thenceforth  I  am  too  busy  crossing  to  bother 
about  myself.  "  Well — what  do  you  propose  ?  "  said  I. 

"  To  be  your  wife,"  replied  she.  "  To  show  you  how? 
389 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sorry  I  am  for  the  way  I  have  acted,  to  show  you  by 
thinking  only  of  making  you  happy." 

"  Yes  ?  And  what  will  you  do  to  make  me 
happy?  " 

"  Look  after  your  comfort — your  home,  Godfrey." 

"  But  you  don't  know  about  that  sort  of  thing," 
said  I.  "  You  know  only  how  to  make  a  house  attrac 
tive  to  other  people.  You  are  far  too  fine  for  a  pri 
vate  housekeeper." 

"  I  shall  learn,"  said  she  sweetly.  "  Those  things 
are  not  difficult." 

I  smiled  at  this  unconscious  confession  of  inca 
pacity  to  learn  the  most  difficult  of  all  the  arts. 
"You  will  practice  on  me,  eh?  Thank  you — but  no. 
You  wouldn't  make  me  comfortable.  You'd  only 
harass  yourself  and  deprive  me  of  comfort — and  for 
years.  *  Those  things  '  are  less  easy  than  you  imagine. 
You  are  set  in  your  ways,  I  in  mine." 

"  You  don't  realize,"  protested  she  confidently. 
"  You  must  be  lonely,  Godfrey.  You  need  companion 
ship — sympathy.  I  can  give  it  to  you  now — for,  I  am 
awake  at  last.  I  know  my  own  mind  and  heart." 

I  shook  my  head.  "  That  sounds  well,  but  what 
does  it  mean?  Next  door  to  nothing,  my  friend.  You 
/  and  I  are  not  interested  in  the  same  things.  We've 
nothing  to  talk  about.  I  don't  know  the  things  you 
know — the  social,  the  fashionable  side  of  life.  You 
don't  know  my  side  of  life — and  you  couldn't  and 
wouldn't  learn  enough  to  interest  me.  Any  forced  in 
terest  you  might  give  would  bore  me.  Pardon  my 
frankness,  but  this  is  no  time  for  polite  falsehoods. 

390 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

The  fact  is  we've  outgrown  each  other.  When  we  look 
out  of  our  eyes,  each  of  us  sees  an  entirely  different 
world ;  and  neither  of  us  cares  about  or  even  believes  in 
the  other's  world.  We  talk,  only  to  irritate.  We  are 
absolutely  and  finally  apart.  It  would  be  impossible 
for  us  to  live  together." 

She  waited  until  I  finished.  I  doubt  if  she  listened. 
It  was  her  habit  not  to  listen  to  what  she  did  not  wish 
to  hear.  "  Godfrey — Godfrey !  "  she  cried,  battling 
with  the  sobs  that  rose,  perhaps  in  spite  of  her.  "  Do 
I  mean  nothing  to  you — I  who  have  been  everything  to 
you?  Does  the  word  wife  mean  nothing  to  you?  " 

"  You  mean  nothing  to  me,"  replied  I.  "  And  I 
mean  nothing  to  you.  Let  us  not  pretend  to  deceive 
ourselves." 

"  But  you  did  care  about  me  once,"  she  pleaded. 
"  I  am  not  old  and  faded.  I  still  have  all  the  charms 
I  used  to  have — yes,  and  more.  Isn't  that  so,  dear?  " 

"  You  are  more  beautiful  than  you  ever  were,"  said 
I.  "  But — you've  gotten  me  out  of  the  habit  of  you* 
And  I  couldn't  go  back  to  it  if  I  would." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept. 

"  At  your  old  tricks,"  said  I  impatiently.     "  It  has 
always  been  your  way  to  try  to  make  me  seem  in  the  | 
wrong.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  lost  years  ago — lost  * 
before  I  did — all  interest  and  taste  for   our  life   to 
gether.    It  was  you  who  ended  our  married  life,  not  I." 

"  Yes,  it  was  all  my  fault,"  she  sobbed.  "  Forgive 
me,  dear.  Take  me  back.  Don't  cast  me  off.  I'll  be 
whatever  you  say — do  whatever  you  wish.  Only  take 
me  back!" 

391 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  could  not  make  an  inch  of  progress  toward  the 
real  motive  behind  this  obviously  sincere  plea.  As  I 
sat  silent,  looking  at  her  and  puzzling,  she  began  to 
hope  that  she  had  moved  me.  No — rather,  she  began 
to  feel  stronger  in  her  deep  rooted  conviction  that  at 
bottom  I  loved  her  and  had  never  wavered.  She  came 
across  the  room,  dropped  to  her  knees  beside  my  chair 
and  hid  her  face  in  my  lap.  Why  is  it  that  passion 
once  extinguished  can  never  light  again?  As  she  knelt 
there  I  appreciated  all  her  physical  charms ;  but  I  was 
appreciative  with  that  critical  calmness  which  is  the 
absence  of  all  feeling.  I  laid  my  hand  on  hers. 

"  Edna,"  I  said,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  truth,  Godfrey,"  replied  she, 
lifting  her  gold-brown  eyes  to  gaze  at  me.  "  As  God 
is  my  judge,  I  am  telling  you  the  truth." 

"  No  doubt  you  think  you  are,"  said  I  diplomat 
ically.  "  But  your  good  sense  must  tell  you  that 
there's  something  wrong." 

"  Yes — with  you,"  was  her  answer  in  a  sad  tone. 
"  I  hoped  we  could  begin  to  be  happy  at  once.  I  see 
now  that  I've  got  to  win  you  back." 

I  concealed  my  panic  behind  an  amused  laugh.  "  I 
suppose  I've  misled  you  into  forming  this  poor  estimate 
]  of  my  intelligence  where  you  are  concerned,"  said  I. 
"  You  have  thought  all  these  years  that,  because  I  said 
nothing,  I  did  not  understand.  The  truth  is,  for  many 
years  I  hare  understood  you  thoroughly,  Edna.  You 
doubt  it.  You  say  to  yourself,  '  If  he  had  understood, 
he  would  have  been  furious  and  would  not  have  allowed 
me  to  use  him  as  a  mere  pocketbook.' 9 

392 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Up  she  started,  wounded  to  the  quick.  "  God 
frey  !  "  she  cried.  "  How  you  hurt !  Oh,  my  dear — • 
spare  me.  If  you  had  such  a  low  opinion  of  me,  don't 
tell  me  about  it.  Perhaps  I  deserve  your  contempt. 
God  knows,  I  thought  I  was  doing  right.  Don't  be 
harsh  with  me,  dearest.  I  am  only  a  woman,  after  all.'* 

I  shook  my  head  smilingly.  "  Drop  it,"  said  L 
"  You  are  entirely  too  strong  a  person  to  be  able  to 
hide  behind  a  plea  of  weakness.  I  have  let  you  use  me 
for  your  own  selfish  pleasure  all  these  years  because  L 
did  not  especially  care.  Also,  it  kept  you  away  from 
me — which  was  highly  agreeable  to  us  both." 

The  anguish  in  her  eyes,  whether  it  was  genuine 
or  not,  looked  so  sincere  that  I  avoided  her  gaze. 

"  But,"  I  went  on,  "  I'm  no  longer  in  the  mood  to 
be  used.  You  got  through  with  me,  as  you  thought, 
and  divorced  me  and  prepared  to  marry  a  man  more 
to  your  liking " 

"  Godfrey — you  needn't  be  jealous  of  him — of  any 
one!" 

I  made  a  gesture  of  resigned  despair.  Jealous ! 
Her  vanity  rampant.  It  had  seized  upon  an  insignifi 
cant  phrase  and  had  found  what  it  was  eagerly  looking 
for.  "  I  am  not  jealous  of  him,"  said  I,  "  though  it 
would  be  useless  for  me  to  try  to  convince  you.  Still, 
I  repeat — I  am  not  jealous.  I  was  merely  saying  that 
you  have  cast  me  off,  that  I  choose  to  regard  your 
action  as  final,  that  I  shall  not  let  you  fasten  on  me 
again  simply  because  your  selfishness  and  vanity  hap 
pen  to  discover  a  new  value  in  me.  Do  I  make  my  po~ 
sition  clear?  " 

393 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  see  I  can't  convince  you  of  what's  in  my  heart," 
said  she  with  sweet  resignation.  "  I  had  no  right  to 
expect  it — to  hope  for  it.  But  my  life  will  convince 
you,  Godfrey.  I  shall  win  you  back !  " 

I  retained  my  appearance  of  calmness.  But  I  was 
the  reverse  of  calm.  I  appreciated  that  she  had  me 
in  her  power.  So  far  as  I  could  judge,  she  was  not 
after  more  money,  but  was  under  the  spell  of  some  form 
of  hysteria  that  gave  her  the  delusion  of  an  actual  de 
sire  to  love  me  and  to  be  loved  by  me.  As  she  had  a 
fortune  in  her  own  right,  and  a  large  one,  I  was  with 
out  means  of  controlling  her.  I  could  not  compel  her 
to  stick  to  her  bargain  and  make  the  divorce  legally 
final ;  and,  even  if  I  had  been  so  disposed  I  had  no 
ground  for  a  divorce  from  her  unless  she  should  be 
consenting  and  assisting. 

"  If  you  cared  for  another  woman,  I  might  de 
spair,"  she  went  on.  "  But  you  don't.  My  heart  tells 
me  that  you  don't." 

Should  I  tell  her?  I  strangled  the  impulse  as  it 
was  born ;  my  common  sense  lost  no  time  in  reminding 
me  of  the  folly  of  that  course. 

"  I'll  be  so  utterly  yours,  Godfrey,"  she  went  on, 
"  that  you'll  simply  have  to  love  me." 

I  rose.  "  Let's  have  no  more  of  this  nonsense," 
said  I.  "  Understand,  once  for  all,  Edna,  the  day 
when  you  can  use  me  is  past — gone  forever.  You  are 
free — and  so  am  I.  We  will  annoy  each  other  no 
more." 

She  faced  me,  her  bosom  heaving,  her  widening  eyes 
scrutinizing  me.  And  what  I  saw  in  them  made  me 

394 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

quail.  For  there  shone  the  arch-fiend  j  ealousy .  "  God 
frey  !  "  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "  It  must  be  another 
woman !  " 

I  laughed — not  pleasantly,  I  imagine.  "  Is  there  no 
end  to  your  vanity?  "  said  I. 

"  Another  woman,"  she  repeated  dazedly.  "  If  that 
weren't  true  you  couldn't  treat  me  harshly — you  would 
want  me  back — would  love  me " 

"  If  there  were  not  another  woman  on  earth,  I  would 
not  go  back  to  you,"  said  I. 

But  what  woman  would  believe  that  of  a  man — espe 
cially  of  one  upon  whom  she  had  put  her  private  brand  ? 
She  said  in  the  same  slow  ferocious  way :  "  Some  woman 
has  hold  of  you — is  getting  ready  to  make  a  fool  of 
you." 

I  laughed — nervously  watching  her  mind  dart  from 
woman  to  woman  of  those  we  knew. 

"  Ah — you  can't  deceive  me !  "  she  cried.  "  Mary 
Kirkwood!  She  has  been  stealing  you  away  from  me. 
And  you,  a  fool  like  all  men  where  women  are  concerned, 
can't  see  through  her."  Edna  laughed  wildly.  "  But 
she  has  me  to  reckon  with  now.  I'll  show  her !  " 

"  Mrs.  Kirkwood  is  engaged  to  Hartley  Beechman," 
said  I. 

"  A  nobody  of  a  novelist,"  said  Edna.  "  That's  a^ 
mere  blind.  She's  after  you.  After  my  husband — the 
man  7  love!  We'll  see !" 

Again  I  laughed — and  I  am  sure  my  counterfeit  of 
indifference  was  successful.  "  Have  it  your  way,"  said  I. 
"But  the  fact  remains  that  you  and  I  are  done  with  each 
other." 

395 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  shall  set  aside  the  divorce,"  said  she. 
"  As  you  please,"  replied  I,  lighting  a  cigarette  and 
preparing  to  leave  the  room.     "  If  you  are  not  content 

with  the  terms  of  settlement  you  can  have  more  money. 
If  that " 

"Why  do  I  love  you?"  cried  she,  all  softness  and 
piteous  appeal  again.  "  You  who  are  so  base  that  you 
think  only  of  money!  What  weakness  for  me  to  love 
you!  Yet,  God  help  me,  I  do— I  do!  Godfrey " 

"  I  am  going  back  to  London,"  said  I. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms,  and  her  face  was  a  grief- 
stricken  appeal  for  mercy.  "  You  can't  be  so  cruel  to 
jne — your  Edna." 

I  smiled  mockingly  at  her  and  left  the  room. 


xn 


I  HAVE  not  been  unaware  of  your  anger  and  disgust 
with  me,  gentle  reader,  during  the  progress  of  the  pre 
ceding  scene.  In  real  life — in  your  own  life — you  would 
have  understood  such  a  scene.  But  you  are  not  in  the 
habit  of  reading  realities  in  books — real  men,  real  wom 
en,  real  action.  Everything  is  there  toned  down,  put  in 
what  is  called  an  artistic  perspective.  Well,  I  am  not 
an  artist,  and  perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  express  an 
opinion  upon  matters  of  art.  But  I'll  venture.  To  me 
art  means  a  point  of  view  upon  life;  so,  I  see  nothing 
artistic,  nothing  but  more  or  less  grotesque  nonsense,  in 
an  art  that  is  not  a  point  of  view  but  a  false  view.  But 
to  keep  to  Edna  and  myself. 

You  think  I  should  have  been  moist  and  mushy, 
should  have  taken  her  back,  should  have  burdened  myself 
for  the  rest  of  my  days  with  her  insincere  and  unsym 
pathetic  personality.  You  are  saying :  "  But  after  all 
she  loved  him."  Even  so — what  does  the  word  love  mean 
when  used  by  a  person  of  her  character  ?  It  means  noth 
ing  but  the  narrowest,  blighting  selfishness.  She  had 
for  years  used  me  without  any  thought  for  or  of  my 
feelings,  wishes,  needs.  When  we  moved  into  our  grand 
New  York  house  she  gave  me  as  a  bedroom  the  noisiest 
room  in  the  house,  one  overlooking  the  street  where  the 
26 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

rattling  of  carriages,  cabs,  and  carts  and  the  talk  and 
laughter  of  pedestrians  kept  me  awake  until  far  into  the 
night  and  roused  me  about  four  in  the  morning — this, 
when  I  was  working  with  might  and  main  all  day  long 
and  needed  every  moment  of  rest  I  could  get.  Why  did 
she  give  me  that  room?  Because  she  wanted  the  only 
available  quiet  room — beside  her  own  bedroom — for  a 
dressing  room !  She  said  the  light  in  the  room  she  gave 
me  was  unfit  to  dress  by !  I  thought  nothing  of  all  this 
at  the  time.  It  is  characteristic  of  American  wives  to- 
do  these  things ;  it  is  characteristic  of  American  men  to 
regard  them  as  the  matter  of  course.  I  cite  the  small 
but  not  insignificant  incident  to  show  the  minuteness  of 
her  indifference  to  me.  I  have  already  given  many  of 
the  larger  though  perhaps  less  important  instances,  and 
I  could  give  scores,  hundreds,  in  the  same  tenor.  She 
professed  to  love  me  at  that  time — and  she  either  had  or 
simulated  a  very  ardent  passion.  But  that  was  not  love, 
was  it  ?  Love  is  generous,  is  considerate,  finds  its  highest 
pleasure  of  self -gratification  in  making  the  loved  one 
happy.  Such  a  conception  of  love  never  entered  her  head 
— and  how  many  American  women's  heads  does  it  enter? 
How  it  amuses  me  to  watch  them  as  they  absorb  every 
thing,  give  nothing,  sit  enthroned  upon  their  vanities — - 
and  then  wonder  and  grow  sulky  or  sour  when  their  hus 
bands  or  lovers  tire  of  the  thankless  task  of  loving  them 
and  turn  away — or  turn  them  away. 

If  Edna  had  awakened  to  genuine  love,  gentle  out 
raged  reader,  would  she  not  have  been  overwhelmed  with 
shame  as  she  looked  back  upon  her  married  life  ?  Would 
she  have  come  to  me  with  the  offer  of  her  love  as  a  queen 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  the  offer  of  her  crown?  She  would  not  have  in 
dulged  in  empty  words ;  she  would  have  tried  to  do  some 
thing  by  way  of  reparation.  She  would  not  have  de 
manded  that  she  be  taken  back;  but,  feeling  that  she 
had  forfeited  her  rights,  she  would  have  tried  to  find 
out  whether  I  would  consent  to  take  her  back ;  and  if  she 
had  found  that  I  would  not,  she  would  have  accepted  her 
fate  as  her  desert. 

In  those  circumstances  do  you  think  I  could  have 
laughed  at  her  and  remained  firm?  No  one  not  a  mon 
ster  could  have  done  that. 

But  the  thing  she  called  love  was  not  love  at  all, 
was  merely  as  I  described  it  to  her — a  newly  discovered 
way  of  using  me  after  she  had  thought  all  possible  use 
for  me  exhausted.  Such,  gentle  reader,  is  the  simple 
truth.  Yet  because  I  had  intelligence  enough  to  see  the 
truth  and  firmness  enough  not  to  be  swayed  by  shallow 
and  meaningless  sentimentalities,  you  call  me  hard,  harsh, 
cruel.  One  of  your  impulsive  kindly  souls  would  have 
taken  her  weeping  to  his  arms,  would  have  begun  to  live 
with  her.  And  there  the  novel  would  have  ended,  with 
you,  gentle  reader,  all  tears  and  thrills.  For,  having  no 
imagination,  you  would  have  been  unable  to  picture  the 
few  weeks  of  cat-and-dog  life  after  the  "  happy  end 
ing,"  then  the  breaking  apart  in  hatred  and  vindictive- 
ness.  But  this  is  not  an  "  artistic  "  novel.  It  is  a  story 
of  life,  a  plain  setting  forth  of  actualities,  in  the  hope 
that  it  may  enable  some  men  and  women  to  understand 
life  more  clearly  and  to  live  their  own  lives  more  wisely 
and  perhaps  less  mischievously. 

I  went  to  my  daughter.  "  Margot,"  said  Is  "  your 
399 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

mother  threatens  to  try  to  stop  the  divorce.  It  is  best 
for  both  her  and  me  that  we  be  free.  I  am  determined 
not  to  live  with  her  again,  for  I  abominate  the  sort  of 
life  she  and  you  lead.  If  you  will  do  what  you  can  to 
bring  her  to  her  senses,  I  will  see  that  you  don't  regret 
it." 

Margot  rather  liked  me,  I  believe.  Not  as  a  father ; 
as  a  father  I  made  her  ashamed,  like  everything  else 
American  about  her.  But  it  was  a  resigned  kind  of 
shame,  and  she  appreciated  my  money,  my  good  nature 
about  it  and  my  services  in  bringing  back  her  marquis 
and  making  possible  her  son  the  earl.  I  knew  I  could 
count  on  her  active  sympathy ;  for  she  would  vastly  pre 
fer  that  her  mother  be  the  Princess  Frascatoni. 

My  mother,  Mrs.  Loring;  my  mother,  the  Princess 
Frascatoni.  Pronounce  those  two  phrases,  gentle  reader, 
and  you  will  grasp  my  meaning. 

I  was  by  no  means  sure  she  would  have  any  influence 
with  her  mother,  even  though  she  was  now  the  wife  of 
one  marquis  and  the  mother  of  a  marquis  to  be,  with 
about  half  the  high  British  peerage  as  relatives.  But  I 
was  desperate,  and  a  desperate  man  clutches  at  anything. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  papa,"  said  she  in  her  moth 
er's  own  grave  sweet  way.  "  You  and  mamma  never 
have  been  suited  to  each  other.  Besides,  I  don't  want  her 
away  off  in  'America  where  I  never  expect  to  be  again. 
Some  of  the  girls  who  have  married  here  like  to  go  back 
there  and  receive  the  flattery  and  the  homage.  But  it 
seems  cheap  to  me.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  the 
Americans  think  of  me.  I'm  not  snobbish,  as  I  used 
to  be.  I  am  English  now — loyal  English  to  the  core." 

400 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  This  is  the  place  for  your  mother,  too."  An  idea 
occurred  to  me.  "  If  I  took  your  mother  back  with 
me,  I  would  have  my  parents  and  hers  live  with  us  in  a 
big  place  I'm  going  to  buy  in  the  country.  You  don't 
know  your  grandparents  well  ?  " 

;  She  was  coloring  deeply.  She  must  have  heard  more 
than  her  mother  dreamed  she  knew.  "  No,  papa,"  said 
die. 

"  Your  mother  and  I  were  disgracefully  neglectful 
of  them,"  pursued  I.  "  But  I  shall  make  up  for  it,  as 
far  as  I  can.  I  wish  you  would  come  over  and  visit  us." 

"  I  should  like  it,  papa,"  murmured  she,  ready  to 
sink  down  with  shame. 

66  They  are  plain  people,"  I  went  on,  "  but  they  are 
good  and  honest — much  ahead  of  these  wretched  para 
sites  you've  been  brought  up  among.  .  .  .  Talk  to  your 
mother  about  them.  Tell  her  what  I  have  said." 

She  understood  thoroughly ;  that  is  the  sort  of  thing 
fashionable  people  always  understand.  "  I  shall,  papa," 
said  she.  And  I  could  see  her  putting  on  a  fetching  air 
of  sweet  innocence  and  telling  her  mother. 

"  And  if  she  does  not  like  it,"  continued  I — "  can't 
bear  the  scandal  and  ridicule  among  her  fashionable 
friends — why,  she  can  desert  me.  And  that  would  give 
me  ground  for  divorce." 

"  She  would  be  dreadfully  unhappy  over  there,"  said 
Margot. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  I,  and  my  accent  was  a  guar 
antee. 

Should  I  see  Edna  again  and  picture  our  life  to 
gether  in  the  house  of  love  she  was  bent  upon?  I  de- 

401 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

cided  against  it.  Margot's  pictures  might  lack  the 
energy  and  detail  of  mine.  They  would  more  than  make 
up  in  bringing  home  to  her  the  awful  reality,  as  she 
would  believe  Margot  where  she  might  suspect  me  of 
merely  threatening  what  I  would  never  carry  out.  So, 
off  I  went  to  London — to  wait. 

About  the  hardest  task  in  this  world  is  inaction 
when  every  fiber  of  your  being  is  clamorous  for  action. 
Yet  I  contrived  to  sit  tight — for  a  week — for  two  weeks. 
I  have  always  regarded  myself  as  too  impatient,  too 
impetuous.  And,  beyond  question,  my  natural  tendency 
is  to  the  precipitate.  But  looking  back  over  my  life  I 
am  astonished — and  not  a  little  pleased  with  myself — • 
as  I  note  how  I  have  held  myself  in  check,  have  confined 
my  follies  of  rash  haste  to  occasions  when  miscarriage 
was  not  a  serious  matter. 

Armitage  came — on  the  way  from  St.  Moritz  to 
America.  As  soon  as  I  could  command  the  right  tone, 
I  said: 

"  You've  seen  your  sister  and  Mrs.  Armstrong?  How 
are  they  ?  " 

"  Ail  right,"  replied  he  indifferently.  "  Motoring  in 
Spain  at  present,  I  believe." 

"  Beechman — he's  with  them?" 

"  No.  He's  somewhere  hereabouts,  I  believe.  I  saw 
him  in  Hyde  Park  the  other  day — looking  as  seedy  as  if 
he  were  pulling  out  of  an  illness.  I  spoke  and  he  stared 
and  scowled  and  nodded — like  the  bounder  that  he  is." 

"  You  don't  care  for  him?  "  said  I,  rejoiced  by  this 
news  of  my  rival's  seediness. 

"  Oh,  one  doesn't  bother  to  like  or  dislike  that  sort 
402 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  chap."  He  said  this  in  a  supercilious  manner — a  man 
ner  he  had  never  had  in  the  earlier  period  of  our  ac 
quaintance.  How  the  inner  man  does  poke  through  the 
surface  when  the  veneer  of  youth  wears  thin ! 

"  For  one  who  despises  birth  and  wealth  and  rank," 
said  I,  not  without  a  certain  malice,  "  you  have  a  queer 
way  of  talking  at  times." 

Armitage  winced,  changed  the  subject  by  saying: 
"  And  what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you?  You're 
looking  anything  but  fit  yourself." 

"  Oh — I'm  up  against  it,  as  usual,"  said  I  gloomily. 

He  laughed.  My  pessimism  was  one  of  the  jokes  of 
my  friends.  But,  having  seen  so  much  of  the  ravages 
of  optimism — of  the  cheer-boys-cheer  and  always-look- 
at-the-bright-side  sort  of  thing,  I  had  given  myself  the 
habit  of  reckoning  in  the  possibilities  of  disaster  at  full 
value  when  I  made  plans.  Little  people  ought  always  to 
be  optimistic.  Then,  their  enthusiasm — if  directed  by 
some  big  person — produces  good  results,  where  they 
would  avail  nothing  could  they  see  the  dangers  in  ad 
vance.  But  big  people  must  not  be — and  are  not — op 
timists,  whatever  they  may  pretend.  The  big  man  must 
foresee  all  the  chances  against  success.  Then,  if  his 
judgment  tells  him  there  is  still  a  chance  for  success,  his 
courage  of  the  big  man  will  enable  him  to  go  firmly 
ahead,  not  blunderingly  but  wisely.  The  general  must 
be  pessimist.  The  private  must  be  optimist;  for  if  he 
were  pessimist,  if  he  saw  what  the  general  must  see,  he 
would  be  paralyzed  with  fear  and  doubt. 

"  You're  always  grumbling,"  said  Armitage.  "  Yet 
you're  the  luckiest  man  I  know." 

403 


THE   HUSBANiyS_STQRY 

"  Perhaps  that's  why,"  replied  I. 

He  understood,  nodded.  "  Doubtless,"  said  he. 
"  What's  luck  ?  Nothing  but  shrewd  calculation.  The 
fellow  who  can't  calculate  soon  loses  any  windfalls  that 
may  happen  to  blunder  his  way.  But  what's  the  grouch 
now?" 

I  was  so  helplessly  befogged  that  I  resolved  to  tell 
him. 

"  My  late  wife  is  threatening  not  to  release  me,"1 
said  I. 

He  smiled  curiously.     "  But  she  hasn't  done  it  yet?  '* 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  I.  "  At  least  not  up  to  eleven, 
o'clock  this  morning,  New  York  time." 

"  I  don't  think  she  will,"  said  he. 

"Why?"  demanded  I. 

"  You  won't  let  her,  for  one  reason,"  replied  he. 
"  You're  as  fond  of  your  freedom  as  I  am.  And  noth 
ing  on  earth  could  induce  me  to  marry  again.  When 
women — English  women — look  at  me  I  see  them  fairly 
twitching  to  get  me  where  they  can  make  free  use  of 
me.  Yes — marriage  has  gone  the  way  of  everything 
else.  Business — finance — politics — religion — they've  all 
degenerated  into  so  many  means  of  graft.  And  art's 
going  the  same  way.  And  marriage — it's  the  woman's 
great  and  only  graft.  Our  women  look  at  marriage  in  jf 
two  ways — how  much  can  be  got  out  of  it,  living  with 
the  man;  how  much  will  it  net  as  alimony." 

"  You  seemed  rather  positive  that  my  late  wife 
would  not  hold  on  to  me?  "  persisted  I. 

He  eyed  me  sharply.  "You  really  wish  to  be 
free?" 

404. 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  am  determined  to  be  free." 

"  She's  a  charming — a  lovely  woman,"  said  he. 

There  was  doubt  of  my  candor  in  his  eyes.  It  is 
all  but  impossible  for  a  man  rightly  to  judge  any 
woman  except  her  he  has  tired  of  or  for  some  other 
reason  does  not  want  and  cannot  imagine  himself  want 
ing.  The  unpossessed  woman  has  but  the  one  value; 
the  possessed  woman  must  have  other  values — or  she  has 
none.  Armitage  could  judge  Edna  only  as  female, 
unpossessed  female.  Said  he: 

"  She's  a  charming — a  lovely  woman." 

"  Like  the  former  Mrs.  Armitage,"  I  reminded  him. 

"  So — so,"  conceded  he.  "  But  I've  always  believed 
you  were  a  fond  husband  at  bottom." 

"  Dismiss  it  from  your  mind,"  said  I.  "  You  are 
hesitating  about  telling  me  something.  Say  it !  " 

With  a  certain  nervousness  he  yielded  to  his  love 
of  gossip.  "  Prince  Frascatoni — you  know  him  ?  " 

I  beamed  in  a  reassuring  smile.  "  My  late  wife's 
chief  admirer,"  said  I.  "  A  fine  fellow.  I  like  him." 

"  He's  visiting  down  at — what's  the  name  of  the 
place  your  son-in-law  has  taken  ?  " 

"  He  is?  "  exclaimed  I  jubilantly.  "  When  did  he 
go?" 

"  About  a  week,  I  hear." 

"  That  looks  encouraging,  doesn't  it  ?  "  cried  I. 

"  It  certainly  does,"  said  he.  "  They  say  he  was 
charging  round  town  like  a  lunatic  up  to  a  few  weeks 

( 99 

"  Two  weeks  ago,"  said  I. 

"  But  now  he  has  calmed  again — looks   serene.     I 
405 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

had  a  note  from  him  this  morning.  I'm  positive  he's 
content  with  the  way  the  cards  are  falling." 

The  change  in  me  was  so  radical  that  Armitage 
must  have  been  convinced — for  the  moment.  "  If  I 
only  knew ! "  said  I. 

"  I  can  find  out  for  you,"  suggested  he.  "  Your 
daughter  has  asked  me  down  for  the  week  end.  I'll 
sacrifice  myself,  if  you  wish." 

"  I'll  take  your  going  as  a  special  favor,"  said  I. 

"  Besides,"  he  went  on,  "  these  Anglo-American 
menages  interest  me.  American  women  are  so  brash  with 
the  men  of  their  own  country.  I  like  to  see  them  play 
ing  the  part  of  meek  upper  servants.  The  only  kind 
of  wife  to  have  is  a  grateful  one.  To  get  a  grateful 
wife  an  American  has  to  marry  some  poor  creature, 
homely,  neglected  by  everyone  till  he  came  along.  Even 
then  the  odds  are  two  to  one  she'll  go  crazy  about  her 
self  and  despise  him — because  he  stooped  to  her,  if  she 
can't  find  any  other  excuse.  But  a  titled  foreigner — 
An  American  girl  is  on  her  knees  at  once  and  stays 
there.  He  can  abuse  her — step  on  her — kill  her  almost 
— neglect  her — waste  her  money.  She  is  still  humbly 
grateful." 

"  The  worms  have  been  known  to  turn,"  protested  I. 
For,  while  I  could  not  deny  the  general  truth  of  Armi- 
tage's  attack  I  felt  he  was  whipped  too  far  by  bitterness 
that  he,  for  lack  of  a  title,  could  not  command  what 
these  inferior  men  with  titles  had  offered  to  them  with 
out  the  bother  of  asking. 

"  Not  a  worm,"  declared  he.  "  No  American  woman 
ever  divorced  a  title  unless  she  was  either  in  terror  of 

408 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

her  life  or  in  terror  of  being  robbed  to  the  last  penny 
and  kicked  out." 

"  Thank  God  all  our  women  aren't  title  crazy," 
said  I. 

"  How  do  you  know  they  aren't? "  retorted  he. 
"Do  you  know  one  who  has  been  tempted  and  has 
resisted?" 

I  had  to  confess  I  did  not. 

"  Then  you  thanked  God  too  soon.  The  truth  is  our 
women  arc  brought  up  to  be  snobs,  spenders — useless, 
vain  parasites.  Their  systems  are  all  ready  to  be  in 
fected  with  the  title  mania." 

Armitage,  on  his  favorite  subject,  talked  and  talked. 
I  did  not  listen  attentively — not  so  much  because  I  did 
not  like  what  he  was  saying  or  because  I  thought  him 
prejudiced  as  because  I  knew  him  to  be  a  secret  snob 
of  the  thorough-going  variety.  I  suspected  that  if 
things  were  reversed,  if  he  could  get  a  title  by  mar 
riage  and  a  position  that  would  enable  him  to  swagger 
and  would  make  everyone  bow  and  scrape,  he  would 
put  the  eagerest  of  the  female  title-hunters  to  the  blush. 
It  may  be  just  and  proper  to  criticise  women  for  being 
what  they  are.  But  let  us  also  bear  in  mind  that  it  is 
not  their  fault  but  the  fault  of  their  training ;  also  that 
the  men  do  no  better  when  they  have  the  chance  to 
live  in  idle  vanity  upon  the  labors  of  some  one  else. 

On  the  following  Monday  my  emissary  returned 
from  Garton  Hall  full  to  the  brim  with  news. 

But  first  he  had  again  to  assure  himself  that  there 
was  no  pretense  in  my  seeming  anxiety  to  be  free.  I 
saw  doubt  of  me  in  his  eyes  before  he  began  his  adroit 

407 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

cross-examination.  I  gave  no  sign  that  I  knew  what  he 
was  about;  for  in  those  cases  the  one  chance  of  con 
vincing  is  to  submit  to  whatever  tests  may  be  applied. 
It  was  not  unnatural  that  he  should  doubt,  coming  as 
he  did  direct  from  seeing  and  talking  with  the  charm 
ing  Edna.  Men  are  habitually  fools  about  women — 
not  because  women  make  fools  of  them  but  because  they 
enjoy  the  sensation  of  making  fools  of  themselves. 
That  is  a  sensation  much  praised  by  poets,  romancers, 
sentimentalists  of  all  kinds ;  and  because  of  this  praise 
it  has  come  to  have  a  certain  fictitious  value,  has  come 
to  be  a  cheap  way  for  a  man  to  imagine  himself  a  devil 
of  a  fellow,  a  figure  of  romantic  recklessness.  There  is 
no  limit  to  which  the  passion  for  living  up  to  a  pose 
will  not  carry  a  man.  Men  have  flung  away  their 
fortunes,  their  lives,  for  the  sake  of  a  pose;  martyrs 
have  burned  at  the  stake  for  pose.  So  a  man  of  ex 
perience  even  more  than  your  ordinary  brick-brained 
citizen  is  distrustful  of  his  fellow  men  where  women  are 
concerned.  And  it  is  nothing  against  Armitage's  in 
telligence,  nor  any  sign  of  his  having  a  low  estimate 
of  my  strength  of  mind,  that  he  tried  to  make  absolutely 
sure  of  me  before  proceeding. 

Then,  too,  there  was  Edna's  charm.  Women — I 
mean,  our  fashionable  and  would-be  fashionable  Amer 
ican  women  of  all  classes,  from  Fifth  Avenue  to  the 
Bowery,  from  Maine  to  the  Pacific — women  are  parlor- 
bred — are  bred  to  make  an  imposing  surface  impression. 
The  best  of  them  fool  the  most  expert  man,  as  Edna 
had  been  fooling  Armitage  during  those  two  days  down 
in  the  country.  A  man  has  to  live  with  them  to  find 

408 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

them  out.  And  often,  our  men,  being  extremely  busy 
and  kindly  disposed  toward  their  women  and  unobserv 
ant  of  them  and  uncritical  of  them,  do  not  find  them 
out  for  many  years.  The  house  is  run  badly,  the  money 
is  wasted,  the  children  are  not  brought  up  right.  But 
the  man  lets  it  pass  as  "  part  of  the  game."  He  tells 
himself  that  not  much  but  good  looks  is  to  be  expected 
of  a  woman;  he  buries  himself  still  deeper  in  his  busi 
ness.  Then —  If  he  is  a  successful  man,  along  about 
forty  when  he  has  got  up  high  enough  to  be  able  to 
relax  from  the  labor  of  his  career  and  thinks  of  en- 
j  oying  himself,  he  tries  to  form  an  alliance  for  pleasure 
with  his  wife.  And  lo  and  behold,  he  discovers  that  he 
is  married  to  a  vain,  superficial  fool. 

There  could  have  been  no  more  delightful  experi 
ence  than  passing  a  few  days  in  the  society  of  Edna. 
She  had  educated  herself,  admirably,  thoroughly,  for 
show.  She  could  have  fooled  the  fashionable  man  his 
whole  life  through,  for  one  cannot  see  beyond  the  range 
of  Iris  own  vision.  She  might  have  fooled  many  a  seri 
ous  man  of  the  narrow  type;  an  excellent  shoemaker 
might  easily  be  misled  by  a  clever  showy  jack  of  all 
trades  into  thinking  him  a  master  of  all  trades  so  long 
as  he  avoided  betraying  his  ignorance  of  shoemaking. 
But  your  successful  American  man  of  the  highest  type, 
having  a  broad  range  of  practical  interests,  becomes  a 
shrewd  judge  of  human  values.  Thus,  the  American 
woman  who  can  pass  for  brilliant  in  fashionable  society 
at  home  or  abroad  cannot  deceive  the  American  man — 
for  long.  Not  when  he  lives  with  her.  No  wonder  she 
finds  him  coarse;  who  does  not  wince  when  vanity  is 

409 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

stepped  on  or  ignored?  No  wonder  she  thinks  him  un 
interesting.  A  child  would  have  an  equally  poor  opinion 
of  any  person  inexpert  at  catcher,  marbles,  and  mud 
pies. 

Armitage,  in  a  company  of  titled  people,  his  nostrils 
full  of  his  beloved,  stealthily  enjoyed  perfumes  of  wealth 
and  rank,  was  captivated  by  Edna.  If  he  had  stopped 
a  week  or  so,  his  American  shrewdness  might  have  found 
her  out,  might  have  seen  why  I  could  view  with  unruffled 
sleeves,  as  the  Chinese  say,  the  loss  of  so  lovely  and 
lively  a  companion.  But,  stopping  only  for  the  week 
end,  he  became  doubtful  of  my  sincerity.  I  measured 
how  deeply  he  had  been  deluded  when  he  spoke  of  her 
keen  sense  of  humor.  Woman  nature  is  too  practical, 
too  matter-of-fact  for  even  the  cleverest  of  them  to 
have  a  real  sense  of  humor — with  now  and  then  an 
exception,  of  course.  Edna  had  not  a  glimmer  of  ap 
preciation  of  either  wit  or  humor.  But  only  I,  before 
whom  she  dropped  all  pretenses  except  those  that  were 
essential  to  her  pose — only  I  knew  this.  Before  the 
rest  of  the  world,  with  the  aid  of  her  vivacity! — What 
an  aid  to  women  is  vivacity! — how  many  of  them  it 
marries  well ! — With  the  aid  of  her  vivacity  she  made 
a  convincing  show  not  only  of  appreciating  humor  and 
wit  but  also  of  having  much  of  both.  At  precisely  the 
right  place  she  gave  the  proper,  convincing,  charming 
exhibition  of  dancing  eyes  and  pearl-white  teeth.  And 
occasionally  with  a  pretty  liveliness  she  repeated  as  her 
own  some  witticism  she  had  heard  much  applauded  in 
another  and  remote  company.  But  I  do  not  blame  you, 
ladies,  for  your  inveterate  and  incessant  posing.  We 

410 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

men  are  determined  to  idealize  and  to  be  gulled,  and 
you  need  us  to  pay  for  your  luxury  and  your  finery. 

I  let  Armitage  probe  on  and  on  until  my  impatience 
for  his  news  would  suffer  no  further  delay.  I  said : 

"  I  see  you  refuse  to  be  convinced.     So  let  it  go  at 
.that,    and    tell    me    what   you    found   out.      Is    she   to 
marry  Frascatoni?" 

"  As  I've  been  telling  you,  I  believe  she  is  in  love 
with  you,  Loring." 

"  But  is  she  going  to  free  me  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  do  something  pretty  soon,  I'm  afraid 
you'll  lose  her." 

It  was  too  absurd  that  he,  who  had  lived  with  one 
of  these  showy  vivacious  women,  had  found  her  out  and 
had  rid  himself  of  her  should  be  thus  taken  in  by  an 
other  of  precisely  the  same  kind.  But  that's  the  way 
it  is  with  men.  They  understand  why  they  yawn  at 
their  own  show  piece ;  but  they  can't  appreciate  that  all 
show  pieces  in  time  produce  the  same  effect. 

"  There  still  remain  three  weeks  before  the  day  on 
which  her  lawyers  must  ask  the  judge  to  confirm  the 
decree,"  said  I.  "  Do  you  think  she  will  have  them 
do  it  or  not  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  get  busy,  old  man " 

"  But  I  shall  not  get  busy.  I  shall  do  everything 
I  can  to  encourage  her  to  stay  free." 

"  Then  you'll  lose  her,"  said  he.  "  Frascatoni  is 
mad  about  her,  and  he  knows  how  to  make  an  impression 
on  a  woman.  It  irritated  me  to  see  a  damned  dago 
carrying  off  such  a  prize — and  you  know  I'm  not 
prejudiced  in  favor  of  American  women." 

411 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  I  want  to  see  her  happy,"  said  I.  "  She  will  be 
happy  with  him — so,  I  hope  he  gets  her."  I  laughed 
mockingly.  "  She  wouldn't  be  happy  with  an  American, 
Bob — not  even  with  you." 

He  colored  guiltily.  "  That  idea  never  entered  my 
head,"  protested  he. 

But  I  laughed  the  more.  "  And  she  wouldn't  have 
you,  Bob,"  I  went  on.  "  So,  don't  put  yourself  in  the 
way  of  being  made  uncomfortable." 

He  had  enjoyed  himself  hugely.  Not  only  was  my 
former  wife  most  entertaining,  but  also  Margot.  She 
had,  beyond  question,  been  beautifully  educated  for 
the  part  she  was  to  take  in  life.  Her  manner — so  Ar- 
mitage  assured  me — was  the  perfection  of  gracious 
simplicity — the  most  exquisite  exhibition  of  the  perfect 
lady — "  note  how  ladylike  I  am,  yet  how  I  treat  you  as 
if  you  were  my  equal."  Gracious — there's  the  word 
that  expresses  the  whole  thing.  And  she  had  a  quan 
tity  of  bright  parlor  tricks — French  recitation,  a  lit 
tle  ladylike  singing  in  a  pleasant  plaintive  soprano  that 
gave  people  an  excuse  for  saying:  "  She  could  have 
been  a  grand-opera  star  if  she  had  cared  to  go  in  seri 
ously  for  that  sort  of  thing."  Also,  a  graceful  skirt 
dance  and  a  killing  cake  walk.  She  had  an  effective 
line  of  fashionable  conversation,  too — about  books  and 
pictures,  analysis  of  soul  states,  mystic  love  theories — 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  a  first-class  heroine  of  a  first- 
class  society  novel.  And  you,  gentle  reader,  who  know 
nothing,  would  never  have  dreamed  that  she  knew  noth 
ing.  You  who  are  futile  would  not  have  seen  how 
worthless  she  was — except  to  do  skirt  dances  well 

412 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

enough  for  a  drawing-room  or  to  talk  soul  states  well 
enough  for  a  society  novel. 

The  more  Armitage  discoursed  of  the  delights  of 
his  little  visit  the  more  nervous  I  became  lest  Edna 
should  again  change  her  mind  and  inflict  me  further. 
What  he  had  said  brought  back  my  life  with  her  in 
stinging  vividness.  I  lived  again  the  days  of  my  self- 
deception,  the  darker  days  of  my  slow  awakening,  the 
black  days  of  my  full  realization  of  the  mess  my  life 
was,  and  of  my  feeling  that  there  was  no  escape  for  me. 

"  I  will  admit,  Loring,"  said  Armitage,  "  that  as 
women  go  our  women  are  the  best  of  all." 

"  Yes,"  I  assented,  sincerely.  "  And  they  ought  to 
be.  America  is  the  best  place  to  grow  men.  Why 
shouldn't  it  be  the  best  place  to  grow  women?  " 

He  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  In  his  heart  he  dis 
agreed  with  me,  for  he  was  wholly  out  of  conceit  with 
everything  American.  His  pose  had  been  the  other 
way,  and  he  shrank  from  uncovering  himself. 

A  day  or  so  later  I  was  crossing  Green  Park  when 
I  ran  straight  into  Hartley  Beechman.  I  smiled  pleas 
antly,  though  not  too  cordially.  He  planted  himself  in 
front  of  me  and  stared  with  a  tragic  frown.  I  then 
noted  that  he  verged  on  the  unkempt,  that  he  had 
skipped  his  morning  shave  and  perhaps  his  bath.  His 
stare  was  unmistakably  offensive — the  look  of  a  man 
who  is  seeking  a  quarrel. 

"  How're  you,  Beechman  ?  "  said  I,  ignoring  the 
signs  of  foul  weather.  "  Armitage  told  me  you  were 
in  town,  but  didn't  know  your  address.  Stopping 
long?  " 

27  413 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You  are  a  scoundrel,"  said  he. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  As  I  was  much  the  larger 
and  stronger  man  I  could  afford  to  do  it.  "  So  I've 
often  heard,"  said  I.  "Perhaps  it's  true.  What  of 
it?  Why  should  you  think  I  cared  to  know  your  opin 
ion  of  me?  " 

"  If  I  send  you  a  challenge  will  you  accept  it?  " 

I  laughed.  "  No,  I  never  pay  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  crank  letters." 

'  You  are  a  coward.  You  will  not  give  me  a  chance 
to  meet  you  on  equal  terms." 

"  I'll  take  you  over  my  knee  and  give  you  a  spank 
ing  if  you  don't  behave  yourself,"  said  I,  and  I  pushed 
him  out  of  my  path  and  was  passing  on. 

"  You  took  her  away  from  me,"  he  jeered.  "  But 
it  will  do  you  no  good.  She  is  laughing  at  us  both." 

I  strode  away.  I  had  heard  enough  to  put  me  in 
high  good  humor. 

As  the  end  of  my  wait  upon  the  anxious  seat 
drew  into  its  last  week,  I  fell  into  a  state  of  deep 
depression.  Too  much  eating  and  drinking  was,  of 
course,  the  cause.  But  I  had  to  pass  the  time  some 
how;  and  what  is  there  to  do  in  London  but  eat  and 
drink  ? 

Four  days  before  the  last,  Rossiter  came  into  my 
sitting  room  with  the  news  that  Edna  was  calling. 
There  arose  a  nice  question :  Would  I  better  send  word 
I  was  out  or  see  her?  Because  of  my  knowledge  of  her 
persistence  where  her  interest  was  really  engaged,  I 
decided  to  see  her  and  have  done  with.  So  in  she  came, 

414 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

vivacious,  radiant — dressed  for  a  scene  in  which  she 
was  to  be  heroine,  as  I  saw  at  a  glance. 

"  Pray  don't  think  I'm  going  to  repeat  what  I  did 
the  other  day,"  cried  she  by  way  of  beginning.  "  I'm 
in  quite  another  mood." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  I. 

"  I  was  horribly  ashamed  and  disgusted  with  my 
self  afterwards,"  she  went  on.  "  You  must  have  thought 
me  crazy.  In  fact,  you  did.  You  treated  me  as  if  I 
were." 

"Won't  you  sit?"  said  I,  arranging  a  chair  for 
her. 

She  smiled  mischievously  at  me  as  she  seated  her 
self.  "  You  do  know  something  about  women,"  said 
she.  "  You  put  this  chair  so  that  my  face  would  be 
spared  the  strong  light."  As  she  said  this,  she  turned 
into  the  full  strength  of  the  light  a  face  as  free  as  a 
girl's  from  wrinkles  or  any  other  sign  of  years.  "  You 
certainly  do  know  something  about  women." 

"  Very  little,"  said  I,  for  it  was  not  a  time  to 
pause  and  poke  a  finger  into  the  swelling  bubble  of 
woman's  baffling  complexity  and  unfathomable  mystery. 
"  You've  come  to  tell  me  what  it  was  you  wanted  the 
other  day  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  She  was  wearing  a  charming 
hat — but  her  costumes  were  never  indifferent  and  near 
ly  always  charming — a  feat  the  more  remarkable  be 
cause  she,  being  a  timidly  conventional  woman,  fol 
lowed  the  fashions  and  ventured  cautiously  and  never 
far  in  individual  stjle.  "  You're  usually  right,  my 
dear,"  said  she,  "  in  your  guesses  at  people's  underlying 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

motives.     But  you  were  mistaken  that  time.     I  wanted 
exactly  what  I  said.     I  wanted  you." 

"  Incredible,"  laughed  I. 

"  Yes — it  does  sound  so,"  conceded  she.  "  But  it's 
the  truth.  I  had  a  queer  attack — an  attack  of  jeal 
ousy.  I'd  often  heard  of  that  sort  of  thing.  I  fancied 
myself  above  it.  Perhaps  that  was  why  I  fell  such  a 
foolish  victim.  But  I've  recovered  completely."  And 
her  eyes  were  mocking  me  as  if  she  had  a  secret  joke 
on  me. 

"  It  couldn't  last  long,"  said  I,  to  be  saying  some 
thing. 

"  No,  perhaps  not,"  replied  she.  "  At  any  rate,  as 
soon  as  I  heard  of  Mary  Kirkwood's  engagement  I  was 
<;ured — instantly  cured." 

"  I  told  you  she  was  engaged,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  Beechman  person,"  scoffed 
Edna.  "  She  was  simply  amusing  herself  with  him.  A 
woman — a  woman  of  our  world — might  have  an  affair 
with  a  man  of  that  sort — as  you  men  sometimes  do  with 
queer  women.  But  she  wouldn't  think  of  marrying  him. 
Marriage  is  a  serious  matter." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  I. 

"  It's  a  woman's  whole  career,"  pursued  she.  "  It 
means  not  only  her  position,  but  the  position  of  her 
children,  too." 

"  Very  serious,"  said  L 

"  No — I  mean  Mary's  engagement  to  Count  Ton 
Tilzer-Borgfeldt." 

"  I  hadn't  heard  of  it,"  said  I  indifferently.  There 
could  be  nothing  in  such  a  silly  story. 

416   ' 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

«  Didn't  Bob  Armitage  tell  you?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  I.     "  But  why  should  he?  " 

"  That's  queer,"  mused  she.  "  Perhaps  he  thought 
there  might  be  a  little  something  in  the  talk  about  you 
and  Mary,  and  that  it  would  be  well  not  to  stir  things 
up." 

"  That  might  account  for  it,"  I  agreed. 

She  was  studying  me  closely.  "  I  believe  you  really 
didn't  care  about  Mary,"  continued  she.  "  I  confess 
I  was  astonished  when  I  first  heard  that  you  did. 
She's—"  Edna  laughed—"  hardly  up  to  me." 

"  Hardly,"  said  I. 

"  But  let's  not  talk  of  her.  I've  forgotten  all  that. 
I've  come  to  make  a  last  proposal  to  you." 

She  was  smiling,  but  I  detected  seriousness  in  her 
eyes,  in  her  unsteady  upper  lip,  in  her  hands  trying  not 
to  move  restlessly. 

"  You  don't  realize  what  a  strong  hold  you  have  on 
me,  Godfrey.  Is  it  love?  Is  it  habit?  I  don't  know. 
But  I  can't  shake  it  off.  Don't  you  think  me  strange, 
talking  to  you  in  this  way?  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  you?  "  said  I. 

"  It's  more  like  a  woman  who  isn't  attractive  to 
men." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  I.  "  You  speak  like  a 
woman  accustomed  to  deal  with  men  according  to  her 
own  good  pleasure." 

"  How  shrewd  that  is !  "  said  she,  with  an  admiring 
glance.  "  How  shrewd  you  are !  That's  what  I  miss 
in  other  men — in  these  men  over  here  who  have  so  much 
that  I  admire.  But  they — well,  they  give  me  the  feel- 

417 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing  that  they  are  superficial.  Do  you  think  7  am  su 
perficial?  " 

"How  could  I?  "said  I. 

"  That's  an  evasion,"  laughed  she.  "  You  do  think 
so.  And  perhaps  I  am.  A  woman  ought  to  be.  A 
man  looks  after  the  serious  side  of  life.  The  woman's 
side  is  the  lighter  and  graceful  side — don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  That  sounds  plausible,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  grow  tired  of  superficial  men.  They  give 
me  the  feeling  that — well,  that  they  couldn't  be  relied 
on.  And  you  are  reliable,  Godfrey.  I  feel  about  you 
that  no  matter  what  happened  you'd  be  equal  to  it. 
And  that's  why  I  don't  want  to  give  you  up." 

I  sat  with  my  eyes  down,  as  if  I  were  listening  and 
reflecting. 

"  Since  you've  been  over  here  long  enough  to — to 
broaden  a  little —  You  don't  mind  my  saying  you've 
broadened?  " 

"  It's  true,"  said  I. 

"  I've  fancied  perhaps  you  might  be  seeing  that  I 
wasn't  altogether  wrong  in  my  ideas  ?  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  I,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  Margot  was  telling  me  about  some  plans  you  had 
— for  living  on  the  other  side.  You  weren't  in  ear 
nest?  " 

I  looked  at  her  gravely.  "  Very  much  in  earnest," 
said  I.  "  I  shall  never  again,  in  any  circumstances,  live 
as  we  used  to  live." 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair,  slowly  turned  her  para 
sol  round  and  round.  "  Then — it's  hopeless,"  said  she, 

418 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

with  a  sigh  that  was  a  sob  also.  And  the  look  in  the 
eyes  she  lifted  to  mine  went  straight  to  my  heart.  "  I 
simply  can't  stand  America,"  said  she.  "  It  reminds 
me  of — "  She  rose  impatiently.  "  If  you  only  knew, 
Godfrey,  how  I  loathe  my  origin — the  dreadful  depth 
we  came  from — the  commonness  of  it."  She  shud 
dered. 

"  Europe  is  the  place  for  you,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  cried  she.  "  And  we  could  be  happy 
over  here — if  you'd  only  see  it  in  the  right  light.  God 
frey,  I  don't  want  to — to  change.  Won't  you  com 
promise?  " 

"  By  conceding  everything?  "  said  I  good-humored- 
ly.  "  By  becoming  the  bedraggled  tail  to  your  gay  and 
giddy  kite?" 

"  You  simply  won't  reason  about  these  things !  " 
exclaimed  she.  "  Yet  they  say  men  are  reasonable !  " 

"  My  dear  Edna,  I  don't  ask  you  to  make  yourself 
wretched  for  my  sake.  And  I  don't  purpose  to  be 
wretched  for  your  sake." 

She  sat  down  again.  The  brightness  had  faded 
from  her.  She  looked  older  than  I'd  have  believed  she 
could.  "  Well — I  see  it's  useless,"  she  said  finally. 
"  And  as  I've  got  to  stay  over  here,  I  simply  must 
marry  again.  You  understand  that?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  you  care  the  least  bit  ?  "  said  she  wistfully. 

"  You  wish  me  to  be  unhappy  about  it,"  laughed  I, 
"  to  gratify  your  vanity." 

She  sighed  again. 

"  You  are  content  with  the  settlements  ?  " 
419 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  she  wearily. 

No  doubt  you,  gentle  reader,  are  now  completely  won 
over  to  her  and  think  that  the  least  I  could  in  decency 
have  done  would  have  been  to  insist  on  her  accepting 
half  my  fortune.  I  had  no  impulse  toward  that  folly. 
There  is  a  kind  of  wife  who  can  justly  claim  that  she  is 
the  equal  partner  in  her  husband's  wealth.  But  not  the 
Edna  kind.  I  had  made  my  fortune  in  spite  of  her. 
Nor  was  I  keen  to  give  her  any  more  money  than  I  should 
be  compelled;  why  turn  over  wealth  to  her  to  fritter 
away  and  to  bolster  the  pretensions  of  a  family  of  worth 
less  Italian  aristocrats? 

With  a  sudden  darting  look  at  me,  she  said :  "  You 
know  Frascatoni.  What  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  A  fine  specimen,"  said  I.     "  A  fascinating  man." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Fascinating  enough, 
I  suppose.  But — would  you  trust  him  ?  " 

"  I  would  not,"  replied  I.  "  Nor  any  other  man.  I 
have  long  since  learned  not  to  trust  even  myself.  But 
I'd  trust  him  as  far  as  the  next  man — as  far  as  it's  neces 
sary  to  trust  anyone." 

She  nodded  in  appreciation  and  agreement.  "  I  be 
lieve  he  genuinely  cares  for  me,"  she  said,  adding  with  a 
melancholy  look  at  me,  "  And  it's  pleasant  to  be  cared 
about." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  I. 

"  You  never  ^wanted  anyone  to  care  about  you," 
said  she.  "  You  are  independent  of  everything  and 
everybody." 

"  That's  safest,"  said  I. 

She  did  not  reply.  After  reflecting  she  burst  out 
420 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

with,  "  You  ought  to  have  made  me,  Godfrey — ought  to 
have  trained  me  to  your  taste.  Women  have  to  be 
made." 

"  Even  if  that  had  been  possible  in  this  case,"  I  ob 
served,  "  I  didn't  know  enough." 

Again  she  thought  a  long  time ;  then  with  a  sigh  she 
said :  "  But  it's  too  late  now.  You're  right.  It's  too 
late." 

It  puzzled  me  to  note  how  much  the  world  had  taught 
her  in  some  ways,  and  how  little  in  others.  But  that  is 
a  familiar  puzzle — the  unexpected,  startling  ways  in 
which  knowledge  juts  out  into  ignorance  and  ignorance 
closes  in  upon  knowledge,  forming  a  coast  line  between  | 
the  land  of  knowledge  and  the  sea  of  ignorance  more 
jagged  than  that  of  Alaska  or  Norway.  The  result  is 
that  each  of  us  is  a  confused  contention  of  wisdom  and 
"folly  in  which  the  imperious  instincts  of  elemental  pas- 
-  .sions  and  appetites,  by  their  steady  persistence,  easily  • 
get  their  way. 

"  Since  I've  begun  to  look  at  these  foreign  men 
seriously,"  she  went  on,  "  to  study  them —  It's  one 
thing  to  size  them  up,  as  you  say  in  America,  with  the 
idea  that  they're  mere  outsiders — acquaintances — social 
friends.  It's  very  different  to  measure  them  with  a  view 
to  serious  relations.  I'm  not  altogether  a  fool — even 
from  your  standpoint — am  I,  Godfrey  ?  " 

"  Distinctly  not,"  said  I. 

"  Since  I've  been  studying  these  upper-class  men 
over  here — I've  changed  my  mind  in  some  respects. 
I'm  not  a  child,  you  know.  I  haven't  done  what  I've 
done  without  using  some  judgment  of  men  and  women." 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

She  flooded  me  with  a  smile  of  gratitude.  "  I  owe  my 
judgment  to  you,  Godfrey.  You  taught  me." 

"  You  never  agreed  with  anything  I  said — when  I 
did  occasionally  venture  an  opinion." 

"  Because  a  woman  disagrees  and  scorns — it  doesn't 
follow  that  she  isn't  convinced." 

"  You've  changed  your  mind  about  these  men  ?  " 
said  I,  for  my  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"  I  find  a  lack  in  them.  You're  right  to  a  certain 
extent,  Godfrey.  They  are  futile — the  cleverest  of 
them.  Culture  gives  a  great  deal,  of  course." 

"What?"  said  I. 

66  It's  too  long  and  involved  to  explain.  And  you 
don't  believe  in  it." 

"  I'm  willing  to,"  said  I.  «  But  first,  I'd  like  to 
know  what  it  is,  and  second,  I'd  like  to  know  what  it 
does.  I've  never  been  able  to  get  anything  but  words  in 
answer  to  either  question." 

"  Well,  7  see  that  it  gives  a  great  deal.  But  I  must 
admit  that  it  takes  away  something — yes,  much — 
strength  from  the  mind  and  softness  from  the  heart." 

I  was  astonished  at  this  admission  from  her — at  the 
admission  itself,  at  the  fresh  evidences  of  what  a  good 
natural  mind  she  had.  But  I  had  no  desire  to  discuss 
with  her.  I  had  long  outgrown  the  folly  of  discussion 
with  futile  people.  I  was  tempted  to  air  my  own  views 
of  this  so-called  culture — how  it  emasculated  where  it 
pretended  to  soften ;  how  it  discovered  nothing,  invented 
nothing,  produced  nothing,  did  not  feed,  or  clothe,  or 
.shelter,  or  in  any  way  contribute  to  the  sane  happiness 
of  a  human  being;  how  it  unfitted  men  and  women  for 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

active  life,  made  them  pitiful  spectators  merely,  scoffing 
or  smiling  superciliously  at  the  battle.  But  I  refrained. 
I  knew  she  believed  the  role  of  spectator  the  only  one 
worthy  a  lady  or  a  gentleman — and  certainly  it  is  the 
only  one  either  lady  or  gentleman  could  take  without 
being  exposed  as  ridiculous.  I  knew  that  her  wise  ob 
servations  were  clever  conversation  merely,  after  the 
manner  of  futile  people — that  when  the  time  for  action 
came  her  snobbishness  dominated  her. 

"  I  wish  these  men  were  not  so — so " 

"  Good-for-nothing?  "  I  suggested. 

She  accepted  the  phrase,  though  she  would  have 
preferred  one  less  mercilessly  truthful. 

"  You  can't  find  everything  in  one  person,"  said  I. 

That  kind  of  tame  generality — lack  of  interest  thinly 
veiled  in  a  polite  show  of  interest — kills  conversation 
and  sets  a  tarrying  caller  to  moving  where  dead  silence 
produces  a  nervous  tendency  to  linger.  Edna  extended 
her  arm,  resting  her  hand  upon  the  crook  of  her  parasol 
in  a  gesture  of  approaching  departure.  Yet  she  seemed 
loth  to  go.  She  rose,  but  counterbalanced  with: 

"  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  it's  likely  to  be  Frasca- 
toni?" 

I  rose,  replied  indifferently,  "  So  I  hear." 

She  stood,  smiling  vaguely  down  at  the  gloved  hand 
on  the  crook  of  the  parasol.  "  If  I  were  only  younger 
—or  more  credulous,"  said  she.  And  I  knew  that  there 
was  a  thin,  sour  after-taste  to  the  sparkling  wine  of  the 
prince's  love-making.  I  smiled — pleasant,  noncommit 
tal. 

"  I  ask  too  much  of  life,"  said  she  impatiently. 
423 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Isn't  it  irritating  that  I  should  become  critical  just  as 
I  am  in  a  position  to  get  everything  I've  longed  for  and 
worked  for?  " 

"  Those  moods  pass,"  said  I. 

"No  doubt,"  said  she.  "  Well— good-by."  She 
put  out  her  hand  with  a  radiant  smile.  "  I'll  not  annoy 
you  any  more." 

My  answering  smile  and  pressure  of  the  hand  were 
friendly,  but  cautiously  so,  for  I  felt  I  was  still  on  thin 
ice.  I  opened  the  door  for  her.  We  shook  hands  again. 
Our  eyes  met.  I  think  it  must  have  given  each  of  us  a 
shock  to  see  in  the  other's  face  the  polite,  distant  look  of 
strangers  parting.  How  easy  it  is  for  two  to  become 
like  one — and  when  they  are,  how  impossible  it  seems 
that  they  could  ever  be  aliens.  How  easy  it  is  for  two 
that  are  as  one  to  become  utter  strangers;  the  sea  is 
wide,  and  its  currents  curve  rapidly  away  from  each 
other. 

"  Rossiter,"  said  I — he  was  at  work  in  the  anteroom, 
"  take  Mrs.  Loring  to  her  carriage,  please." 

So — she  was  gone ;  I  was  free  i 


XIII 

NOT  a  shadow  of  doubt  lingered.  She  was  gone;  I 
was  free.  Her  manner  had  been  the  manner  of  finality. 
Her  reluctance  and  her  sadness  were  little  more  than 
the  convention  of  mourning  which  human  beings  feel 
compelled  to  display  on  mortuary  occasions  of  all  kinds. 
Beneath  the  crepe  I  saw  a  not  discontented  resignation, 
a  conviction  of  the  truth  that  life  together  was  impos 
sible  for  her  and  me. 

My  male  readers — those  who  have  a  thinking  appa 
ratus  and  use  it — will  probably  wonder,  as  I  did  then, 
that  she  had  overlooked  certain  obvious  advantages  to 
be  gained  through  refusing  to  divorce  me.  She  knew 
me  well  enough  to  be  certain  I  would  not  compel  her  to 
go  to  America  and  live  with  me,  but  if  she  insisted  would 
let  her  stay  in  Europe  or  wander  where  she  pleased. 
This  would  have  given  her  all  the  advantages  of  widow 
hood.  Free,  with  plenty  of  money,  she  could  have  led 
her  own  life,  without  ever  having  to  consult  the  con 
veniences  and  caprices  of  a  husband.  It  seemed  to  me 
singularly  stupid  of  her  to  resign  this  signal  advan 
tage,  to  tie  herself  to  a  husband  she  could  not  ignore, 
a  husband  she  already  saw  would  bore  her,  as  poseurs 
invariably  bore  each  other — to  tie  herself  to  such  a  man 
with  no  compensating  advantage  but  a  title.  Indeed, 

425 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

so  stupid  did  it  seem  that  from  the  moment  she  began 
to  waver  about  confirming  the  divorce  I  all  but  lost  hope 
of  freedom. 

My  women  readers  will  understand  her.  A  man 
cannot  appreciate  how  hampered  a  woman  of  the  lady 
class  is  without  a  legitimate  male  attachment  of  some 
kind — a  husband,  a  brother,  or  a  father  in  constant 
attendance,  ready  for  use  the  instant  the  need  arises. 
Our  whole  society  is  built  upon  the  theory  that  woman 
is  the  dependent,  the  appendage  of  man.  Freedom  is 
impossible  for  a  woman,  except  at  a  price  almost  no 
woman  voluntarily  pays.  To  have  any  measure  of 
freedom  a  woman  must  bind  herself  to  some  man,  and 
the  bondage  has  to  be  cruel  indeed  not  to  be  preferable 
to  the  so-called  freedom  of  the  unattached  female.  Thus 
it  was  not  altogether  snobbishness,  it  may  not  have 
been  chiefly  snobbishness,  that  moved  Edna  to  transfer 
herself  to  a  husband  who  would  be  a  more  or  less  un 
pleasant  actuality.  She  had  to  have  a  man.  She  wished 
to  live  abroad  and  to  be  in  fashionable  society.  She 
chose  shrewdly.  I  imagine,  from  several  things  she 
said,  that  she  had  measured  Frascatoni  with  calm 
impartiality,  had  discovered  many  serious  disadvan 
tages  in  him  as  husband  to  a  woman  of  her  fondness 
for  her  own  way.  But  estimating  the  disadvantages 
at  their  worst,  the  balance  still  tipped  heavily  toward 
him. 

I  am  glad  I  was  not  born  a  woman.  I  pity  the  women 
of  our  day,  bred  and  educated  in  the  tastes  of  men,  yet 
compelled  to  be  dependents,  and  certain  of  defeat  in  a 
finish  contest  with  man. 

426 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Though  there  was  now  no  reasonable  doubt  of  Ed 
na's  having  the  decree  of  divorce  made  final,  I,  through 
overcaution  or  oversensitiveness  as  to  Mary  Kirkwood's 
rights,  or  what  motive  you  please,  would  not  let  myself 
leave  London  until  a  cable  from  my  lawyers  in  New 
York  informed  me  that  the  decree  had  been  entered 
and  that  I  was  legally  free.  The  newspapers  had  given 
much  space  to  our  affairs.  It  was  assumed  that  I  had 
come  abroad  "  to  make  last  desperate  efforts  to  win 
back  the  beautiful  and  charming  wife,  the  favorite  of 
fashionable  European  society."  Stories  had  been  pub 
lished,  giving  in  minute  detail  accounts  of  the  bribes  I 
had  offered.  And  when  the  final  decree  was  entered,  my 
chagrin  and  fury  were  pictured  vividly. 

I  did  nothing  to  discredit  this,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
helped  along  the  campaign  for  the  preservation  of  the 
literary  and  journalistic  fiction  that  the  American  wom 
an  is  a  kind  of  divine  autocrat  over  mankind.  If  I  had 
been  so  vain  and  so  ungallant  as  to  try  to  make  the 
public  see  the  truth  I  should  have  failed.  You  can 
discredit  the  truth  to,  the  foolish  race  of  men ;  but  you 
cannot  discredit,  nor  even  cast  a  shade  of  doubt  upon, 
a  generally  accepted  fiction  of  sentimentality.  And  of 
all  the  sentimental  fictions  that  everyone  slobbers  over, 
but  no  one  in  his  heart  believes  with  the  living  and  only 
valid  faith  of  works,  the  fictions  about  woman  are  the 
most  sacred.  Further,  how  many  men  are  there  who  be 
lieve  that  a  man  could  get  enough  of  a  physically  lovely 
woman,  however  trying  she  might  be?  Once  in  a  while 
in  a  novel — not  often,  but  once  in  a  while — there  are 
scenes  portraying  with  some  approach  to  fidelity  what 

427 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

happens  between  a  woman  and  a  man  who  is  of  the  sort 
that  is  attractive  to  women.  Invariably  such  scenes  are 
derided  or  denounced  by  the  critics.  Why?  For  an 
obvious  reason.  A  critic  is,  to  put  it  charitably,  an 
average  man.  He  has  no  insight ;  he  must  rely  for  his 
knowledge  of  life  solely  upon  experience.  Now  what  is 
the  average  man's  experience  of  women?  He  treats 
them  in  a  certain  dull,  conventional  way,  and  they  treat 
him — as  he  invites  and  compels.  So  when  he  reads  how 
women  act  toward  a  man  who  does  not  leave  them  cold 
or  indifferent,  who  rouses  in  them  some  sensation  other 
than  wonder  whether  they  would  be  able  to  stomach  him 
as  a  husband,  the  critic  scoffs  and  waxes  wroth.  The 
very  idea  that  women  might  be  less  reserved,  less  queen 
ly,  less  grudgingly  gracious  than  woman  has  ever  been 
to  him  sends  shooting  pains  through  his  vanity — and 
toothache  and  sciatica  are  mild  compared  with  the  tor- 
turings  of  a  pain-shotten  vanity. 

Edna  scored  heavily  in  the  newspapers.  You  would 
never  have  suspected  it  was  her  late  husband's  money 
that  had  given  her  everything,  that  had  made  her 
throughout ;  for,  what  had  she,  and  what  was  she,  except 
a  product  of  lavishly  squandered  money?  Think  about 
that  carefully,  gentle  reader,  before  you  damn  me  and 
commiserate  her  as  in  these  pages  a  victim  of  my  venom 
ous  malice.  .  .  .  She  was  the  newspaper  heroine  of  the 
hour.  If  she  had  been  content  with  this —  But  I  shall 
not  anticipate. 

My  cable  message  from  New  York  came  at  five 
o'clock.  At  half  past  six,  accompanied  only  by  my 
valet,  I  was  journeying  toward  Switzerland. 

428 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Mrs.  Kirkwood,  I  had  learned  from  her  brother,  was 
at  Territet,  at  the  Hotel  Excelsior,  with  the  Horace 
Armstrongs.  At  four  the  following  afternoon  I  de 
scended  at  Montreux  from  the  Milan  express;  at  five, 
with  travel  stains  removed,  I  was  in  the  garden  of  the 
Excelsior  having  tea  with  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  listen 
ing  to  her  raptures  over  the  Savoy  Alps.  Doubtless 
you  know  Mrs.  Armstrong's  (Neva  Carlin's)  work. 
Her  portrait  of  Edna  is  famous,  is  one  of  the  best  ex 
amples  I  know  of  inside-outness.  Edna  does  not  like  it, 
perhaps  for  that  reason. 

Mary  and  Horace  Armstrong  had  gone  up  to  Caux. 
"  But,"  said  Neva,  "  they'll  surely  be  back  in  a  few 
minutes.  Count  von  Tilzer-Borgfeldt  is  coming  at 
half  past  five." 

I  instantly  recognized  that  name  as  the  one  Edna 
gave  in  telling  me  that  Mary  had  gone  shopping  for 
a  title  and  had  invested.  I  had  thought  Edna's  jeer 
produced  no  effect  upon  me.  I  might  have  known 
better.  My  nature  has,  inevitably,  been  made  morbidly 
suspicious  by  my  business  career.  Also,  I  had  found 
out  Robert  Armitage  as  a  well-veneered  snob,  and  this 
could  not  but  have  put  me  in  an  attitude  of  watchful 
ness  toward  his  sister,  so  like  him  mentally.  Also  my 
/  investigations  of  that  most  important  phenomenon  of 
American  life,  the  American  woman,  had  compelled  me  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  disease  of  snobbishness  had  in 
fected  them  all,  with  a  few  doubtful  exceptions.  So, 
without  my  realizing  it,  my  mind  was  prepared  to  be 
lieve  that  Mary  Kirkwood  was  like  the  rest.  When 
Neva  Armstrong  pronounced  the  name  Edna  had  given. 
28  429 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

there  shot  through  me  that  horrible  feeling  of  insuffer 
able  heat  and  insufferable  cold  which  it  would  be  useless 
to  attempt  to  describe ;  for  those  who  have  felt  it  will  un 
derstand  at  once,  and  those  who  have  not  could  not  be 
made  to  understand.  And  then  I  recalled  Hartley  Beech- 
man's  jeer,  "  She's  laughing  at  us  both."  But  my  voice 
was  natural  as  I  said: 

"  Tilzer-Borgfeldt.  That's  the  chap  she's  engaged 
to  just  now,  isn't  it?  " 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  is  a  loyal  friend,  flushed  an 
grily.  "  Mary  isn't  that  sort,  and  you  know  it,  for 
you've  known  her  a  long  time." 

"  Then  she's  not  engaged  to  him?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  replied  Neva.  "  And  if  you  knew 
him,  you'd  not  wonder  at  it.  I  don't  like  foreigners, 
but  if  I  weren't  bespoke  I  think  I'd  have  to  take  Tilzer- 
Borgfeldt  if  he  asked  me." 

"  No  doubt  it's  a  first-class  title,"  said  I. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well,  Godfrey  Loring,  that  I 
don't  mean  the  title."  She  happened  to  glance  toward 
the  entrance  to  the  garden.  "  Here  he  comes  now. 
You'll  judge  for  yourself." 

Advancing  toward  us  was  a  big,  happy  blond  man 
of  the  pattern  from  which  nine  out  of  ten  German  upper- 
class  men  are  cut.  He  had  the  expression  of  simple,  un 
affected  joy  natural  to  a  big,  healthy,  happy  blond  youth 
looking  forward  to  seeing  his  best  girl.  He  had  youth, 
good  looks,  unusual  personal  magnetism — and  you  will 
imagine  what  effect  this  produced  upon  my  mood.  I 
could  not  deny  that  Neva  was  right.  Without  a  title 
this  man  would  have  all  the  chances  in  his  favor  when 

430 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

he  went  courting.  He  had  not  a  trace  of  aristocratic 
futility. 

You  would  have  admired  the  frank  cordiality  of  my 
greeting.  Instead  of  sitting  down  again  I  glanced  at 
my  watch  and  said : 

"  Well,  my  time's  up.  I  shall  have  to  go  without 
seeing  Horace  and  Mary." 

"  But  3^ou'll  come  to  dinner?  "  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"  I'm  taking  the  first  express  back  to  Paris,"  said  I. 
"  I  found  a  telegram  waiting  for  me  at  my  hotel." 

"  Mary  will  be  disappointed,"  said  Neva.  "  You'll 
give  Mrs.  Loring  my  best?  " 

I  remembered  that  the  English  papers,  with  the  news 
doubtless  in  it,  would  not  reach  Territet  until  late  that 
evening  or  the  following  morning.  But  I  could  not  well 
tell  her  what  had  occurred.  "  Good-by,"  said  I,  shaking 
hands.  "  Tell  them  how  sorry  I  was.  I  may  see  you 
all  in  Paris." 

And  away  I  went,  with  not  an  outward  sign  of  my  in 
ternal  state.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  I  was  in  the 
Paris  express. 

I  stopped  at  Paris  a  month.  A  letter  came  from  her 
— a  bulky  letter.  I  tossed  it  unopened  into  the  fire.  A 
week,  and  a  second  letter  came.  It  was  not  so  bulkv. 
I  flung  it  unopened  into  the  fire.  About  two  weeks,  and 
a  third  letter  came.  I  got  Rossiter  to  address  an  en 
velope  to  her.  I  inclosed  her  unopened  letter  in  the 
envelope  and  mailed  it.  I  was  giving  myself  an  exquisite 
pleasure,  the  keener  because  it  was  seasoned  with  ex 
quisite  pain. 

431 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

All  this  time  I  had  been  amusing  my  idle  days  in 
the  usual  fashion.  My  readers  who  lead  quiet  lives — the 
women  who  sit  thinking  what  they  would  do  if  only  they 
were  men — the  men  who  slip  away  occasionally  for  a 
scampish  holiday,  and  return  to  their  sober  routine  with 
the  cheering  impression  that  they  have  been  most  fear 
fully  and  wonderfully  devilish — those  women  and  those 
men  will  regret  that  I  refrain  from  details  of  how  I 
amused  myself.  But  to  my  notion  I  have  said  enough 
when  I  have  said  "  in  the  usual  fashion."  It  passed  the 
time  as  probably  nothing  else  in  the  circumstances  would 
have  passed  such  tenacious  hours,  every  one  lingering  to 
be  counted.  But  I  confess  I  have  never  been  virtuous 
enough  to  be  especially  raptured  by  so-called  vice.  No 
doubt  those  who  divide  actions  into  good  and  bad,  using 
the  good  for  steady  diet  and  the  bad  for  dessert,  have 
advantages  in  enjoyment  over  those  who  simply  regard 
things  as  interesting  and  uninteresting.  For,  curiously 
enough,  on  that  latter  basis  of  division  practically  all 
the  things  esteemed  by  most  human  beings  as  the  delight 
ful  but  devilish  dessert  of  life  fall  into  the  class  of  more 
or  less  uninteresting.  But  for  the  stimulus  of  the  no 
tion  that  he  is  doing  something  courageously,  daringly 
wicked,  I  doubt  if  any  but  a  dull  fellow  would  perpetrate 
vice  enough  to  lift  the  most  easily  scandalized  hands  in 
the  world.  The  trouble  with  vice  is  that  it  is  so  tiresome 
— and  so  bad  for  the  health.  And  most  of  it  is  so  vul 
gar.  Drinking  to  excess  and  gambling,  for  instance.  I 
have  indulged  in  both  at  times,  when  hard  pressed  for 
ways  to  pass  the  time  or  when  in  those  stupid  moods  of 
obstinate  unreasonableness  in  which  a  man  takes  a  sav- 

432 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

age  pleasure  in  disgusting  himself  with  himself.  Drink 
ing  has  a  certain  coarse  appeal  to  the  imagination — • 
coarse  and  slight  but  definite.  But  gambling  is  sheer 
vulgarit}^.  I  have  been  called  money  mad,  because  I  have 
made  money,  finding  it  easy  and  occupying  to  attend  to 
business.  Yet  never  have  I  cared  about  money  suffi 
ciently  to  take  the  faintest  interest  in  the  gaming  table. 
Gambling — all  forms  of  it — is  for  those  sordid  crea 
tures  who  love  money,  and  who  have  no  intelligent  appre 
ciation  of  its  value.  Gambling — all  the  vices,  for  that 
matter — is  essentially  aristocratic;  for,  as  I  believe  I 
have  explained,  aristocracy  analyzes  into  the  quintes 
sence  of  vulgarity.  The  two  incompetent  classes — the 
topmost  and  the  bottommost — are  steeped  in  vice,  for 
the  same  reason  of  their  incompetence  to  think  or  to  act. 
A  fourth  letter,  the  bulkiest  of  all,  came  from  Mary 
Kirkwood.  A  few  hours  before  it  was  delivered  a  tele 
gram  came  from  her : 

"A  letter  is  on  the  way.     Godfrey,  I  beg  you 
to  read  it.     I  love  you." 

I  tore  up  the  telegram,  sent  back  the  letter  without 
opening  it.  You  are  denouncing  me  as  inhuman,  gentle 
reader.  Perhaps  you  are  right.  But  permit  me  to  point 
out  to  you  that,  if  I  had  not  in  my  composition  a  vein 
of  iron,  I  should  never  have  risen  from  the  mosquito- 
haunted  flats  of  the  Passaic.  Also,  gentle  reader,  if  I 
had  been  a  man  of  the  ordinary  sort  would  Mary  Kirk- 
wood  have  been  sufficiently  interested  in  me  to  send  those 
letters  and  that  telegram? 

436 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

A  day  or  so  after  the  return  of  her  last  letter  I  was 
seized — I  can't  say  why — with  a  longing  to  see  my  father 
and  mother  and  sister,  on  that  lonely  farm  out  in  New 
Jersey.  I  had  never  felt  that  desire  since  I  first  left 
home,  but  had  made  my  few  and  brief  visits  out  of  a 
sense  of  duty — no,  of  shame.  The  thought  of  them  gave 
me  no  sensation  of  horror,  as  it  gave  Edna  and  her 
daughter.  When  I  remembered  them  it  was  simply  as 
one  remembers  any  random  fact.  They  did  not  under 
stand  me ;  and  in  them  there  was  nothing  to  understand. 
We  had  few  subjects  for  conversation,  and  those  not 
wildly  interesting  and  soon  exhausted.  You  will  smile 
when  I  say  I  loved  them.  Yet  it  is  the  truth.  We  do 
not  always  love  those  we  like  to  be  with ;  we  do  not  always 
like  to  be  with  those  we  love. 

There  was  nothing  to  detain  me  in  Paris.  The  hours 
hung  like  guests  who  do  not  know  how  to  take  leave.  So 
not  many  days  elapsed  between  my  seizur  and  my  ap 
pearance  at  the  spacious  and  comfortable  stone  farm 
house  where  the  four  old  people  were  awaiting  in  a  semi- 
comatose  or  dozing  state  what  they  firmly  believed  was 
a  summons  to  a  higher  life.  Their  belief  in  it,  like  that 
of  most  religious  people,  was  not  strong  enough  to  make 
them  impatient  to  get  it;  still  they  believed,  and  found 
the  belief  a  satisfactory  way  of  employing  such  small 
part  of  their  minds  as  remained  awake. 

I  had  not  seen  them  or  their  place  in  several  years,  so 
I  was  astonished  by  the  changes.  My  sister  Polly — a 
homely  old  maid — and  Edna's  father  had  some  glim 
merings  of  enterprise.  Polly  took  in  and  read  several 
magazines,  and  from  them  gathered  odds  and  ends  of 

434 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

up-to-date  ideas  about  dress,  about  furnishing,  about 
gardens.  With  the  valuable  assistance  of  old  Weeping 
Willie  she  had  wrought  a  most  creditable  transformation. 
The  old  people  now  "  looked  like  something,"  as  the  say 
ing  is.  And  the  place  had  a  real  smartness — both  within 
and  without. 

Polly — she  was  about  eight  years  my  senior,  but 
looked  old  enough  to  be  my  mother — Polly  watched  me 
anxiously  as  I  strolled  and  nosed  about.  My  delight 
filled  her  with  delight. 

"  You're  not  so  ashamed  of  us,  perhaps?  "  said  she. 

"  I  never  have  been,"  replied  I.  Nor  did  I  put  an 
accent  on  the  personal  pronoun  that  would  have  been  a 
hint  about  somebody  else's  feelings. 

"  Well — you  ought  to  have  been,"  said  she.  "  We 
were  mighty  far  behind  even  the  tail  of  the  proces 
sion." 

"  I'll  admit  I  like  this  better  than  the  way  we  used 
to  live  in  Passaic.  Polly,  you've  got  the  best  there  is 
going.  All  the  rest — all  the  luxury  and  other  nonsense 
• — is  nothing  but  a  source  of  unhappiness." 

She  did  not  answer.  I  noted  a  touching  sadness  in 
her  expression. 

"  You  don't  agree  with  me  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  she  emphatically.  "  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  that." 

"  What  have  you  got  to  be  unhappy  about  ?  " 

"  You  think  I'm  ungrateful  to  you,"  said  she,  with 
quick  sensitiveness.  "  But  I'm  not,  Godfrey — indeed 
I'm  not." 

"  Ungrateful  ?  "  I  laughed.  "  Don't  talk  nonsense." 
435 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  You've  done  all  you  could — all  anyone  couW, 
And  in  a  way  I  am  happy.  But " 

"  Yes  ?  "  I  urged,  as  she  hesitated. 

"  Well,  I've  found  out — looking  back  over  my  life — 
I've  found  out  that  I —  It  seems  to  me  I've  got  all  the 
tools  of  happiness,  but  nothing  to  work  on.  I  keep 
thinking,  '  How  happy  I  could  be  if  I  only  had  some 
thing  to  work  on ! ' : 

I  was  silent.  A  shadow  crept  out  of  a  black  corner 
of  my  heart  and  cast  a  somberness  and  a  chill  over  me. 

"  You  understand?  "  said  she. 

I  nodded. 

"  I  thought  you  would,"  she  went  on.  "  Godfrey, 
I've  often  felt  sorry  for  you — sorrier  than  I  do  for  my 
self."  She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm.  "  But  you're  a 
man — a  handsome,  attractive,  young  man.  You'll  have 
only  yourself  to  blame  if  you  waste  your  life  as  mine's 
been  wasted." 

"  You  don't  realize  how  lucky  you've  been,"  said  I, 
with  a  bitterness  that  surprised  me.  "  You've  at  least 
escaped  marriage." 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  hadn't,"  cried  she  with  an  energy 
that  startled  me.  There  was  a  fierce  look  of  pain  in  her 
eyes.  "  I  thought  you  understood.  But  I  see  you 
don't." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Polly  Ann?  "  said  I  gently. 

"  The  real  unhappiness  isn't  an  unhappy  marriage,'* 
replied  she.  "  It's  being  not  married  at  all — not  having 
any  children.  You  know  what  I  am — an  old  maid. 
You  think  that  means  the  same  thing  as  old  bachelor, 
Well,  it  don't." 

436 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"Why  not?" 

"  An  old  bachelor — nine  times  out  of  ten  that  means 
simply  an  old,  selfish,  comfortable  man.  But  an  old 
maid —  The  nature  of  woman's  different  from  the 
nature  of  man.  A  woman's  got  to  have  a  home — her 
home — her  nest,  with  her  children  in  it.  And  I'm  an  old 
maid.  If  I'd  been  a  man —  She  turned  on  me. 
"I'm  ugly,  ain't  I?  You  know  I  am.  I  know  it. 
Dress  me  up  in  men's  clothes  and  I'd  be  a  good-looking 
person — as  a  man.  But  as  a  woman  I'm  ugly.  If  I'd 
have  been  a  man  I  could  have  got  a  mighty  nice,  mighty 
nice-looking  wife — one  that'd  have  been  grateful  to  me 
for  taking  her  and  would  have  cared  for  me.  But  as  a 
woman  I  couldn't  get  a  husband." 

"  You  can  get  a  very  good  one,"  said  I.  "  Money — 
what  would  have  bought  you  a  wife  as  a  man — what  buys 
most  men  their  wives — will  buy  you  a  husband.  And 
he'll  be  grateful  and  loving,  so  long  as  you  manage  the 
purse  strings  well — just  as  most  wives  are  loving  and 
grateful  if  their  husbands  don't  treat  them  too  in 
dulgently." 

"  It's  different,  and  you  know  it  is,"  retorted  she. 
"  Custom  has  made  it  different.  And  I'm  ugly— a*id 
that's  fatal  in  a  woman." 

"  Charm  will  beat  beauty  every  time,"  said  I. 

"  I've  got  no  charm — none  on  the  outside.  And 
that's  where  a  woman's  charm  has  to  be.  No,  I've 
thought  out  my  case.  It's  hopeless.  I'm  a  born  old 
maid.  No  man  ever  asked  me  to  marry  him.  No  man 
ever  said  a  word  of  love  to  me.  Do  you  know  what  that 
means,  Godfrey?  " 

437 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

I  was  silent.  A  choke  in  my  throat  made  speech 
impossible. 

"  Never  a  word  of  love,"  she  went  on  monotonously. 
"  Yet  I  don't  suppose  any  woman  ever  wanted  to  hear  it 
more.  And  no  children.  Yet  I  know  no  woman  ever 
wanted  them  more.  No,  not  adopted  children — but  my  I 
own  flesh  and  blood.  I've  heard  women  complain  of 
the  burden  of  bearing  a  child.  It  made  me  wild  to 
listen  to  them — the  fools — the  selfish  fools !  What 
wouldn't  I  have  given  to  have  felt  a  child  within  me. 
Does  it  scandalize  you  to  hear  me  talk  like  this?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.     "  No." 

"  It's  a  wonder,"  said  she,  with  a  grim  smile.  She 
was  quieting  down,  was  hiding  the  heart  from  which  she 
had  on  impulse  snatched  the  veil,  was  ashamed  of  her 
outburst.  "  A  woman  can  talk  about  having  a  cancer, 
or  a  tumor,  or  any  frightful  disease  inside  her,  and 
nobody's  modesty  is  shocked.  But  if  she  speaks  of 
having  a  child  within  her — a  wonderful,  living  human 
being — a  lovely  baby — why,  it's  immodest !  "  She  gave 
a  scornful  laugh.  "  What  a  world !  What  a  world  !  " 

I  looked  at  her  and  marveled.  What  a  world,  in 
deed  ! — where  this  was  one  of  the  sort  of  relatives  of 
whom  pushing  arrived  people  were  ashamed ! 

\. 
I  think  I  forced  myself  to  stay  three  days  with  them. 

I  cannot  recall;  perhaps  I  left  the  second  day.  How 
ever  that  may  be,  I  have  the  sense  of  a  long,  a  very  long 
visit.  To  one  who  has  the  city  habit  the  country  is 
oppressively  deliberate  even  when  it  is  interesting.  It 
makes  you  realize  how  there  is  room,  and  to  spare,  for 

438 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sixty  minutes  in  an  hour,  for  sixty  seconds  in  each 
minute.  The  city  entertains ;  the  country  compels  you 
to  seek  entertainment,  to  make  entertainment.  People 
whose  mentality  tapers  away  from  mediocrity  grow  old 
and  dull  rapidly  in  the  country  as  soon  as  childhood's 
torrential  life  begins  to  slacken.  For  men  of  thought 
the  country  ought  to  be  ideal,  I  should  say,  once  they 
formed  its  habit  and  lost  the  city  habit  of  waiting  in 
confident  expectation  of  being  amused.  But  for  men 
of  action  like  myself,  for  men  whose  whole  life  is  dealing 
directly  with  their  fellow  men,  to  acquire  the  country 
habit  is  a  matter  of  years,  of  a  complete  revolution. 

I  brought  a  sore  and  a  sick  heart  to  the  country.     I 
took  back  to  town  one  that  was  on  the  way  toward  the 
normal.     And    I    owed    the    improvement    not    to    the 
:  country  directly,  but  to  my  sister.     Polly  Ann  had  re- 
I  minded  me  of  the  futility  of  graveyard  mooning,  of  its 
egotism  and  hypocrisy.     She  had  reminded  me  that  only 
the  fool  walks  backward  through  life.     I  believed  I  had 
been  guilty  of  the  folly  of  blowing  a  bubble  of  delusion, 
'  pretending  to  myself  that  it  was  no  bubble,  but  perma 
nent,  substantial,  real.     The  bubble  had  burst,  as  bub 
bles  must — had  burst  with  a  mocking  and   irritating 
dash  of  cold  spray  straight  into  my  face.     Well! — the 
sensible  thing  to  do,  the  only  thing  to  do,  was  to  laugh 
and  blow  no  more  bubbles. 

I  went  back  to  finance ;  I  busied  myself  to  the  utter 
most  of  my  capacity  for  work.  But  I  could  not  uproot 
the  idea  Mary  Kirkwood  had  set  growing  in  my  mind. 
I  saw  ever  more  clearly  that  my  sister  was  eternally 
right.  Some  men  might  be  successful  bachelors.  I 

439 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

could  be  fairly  successful  at  that  selfish  and  solitary 
profession  for  a  few  years,  perhaps  for  ten  or  fifteen 
years  longer.  But  I  knew  with  the  clearness  of  a  vision 
trained  to  search  the  horizon  of  the  future  that  the 
feeling  of  loneliness,  of  complete  futility  which  already 
shadowed  me,  would  become  a  black  pall.  I  must  have 
companionship ;  and  to  companionship  there  is  but  the 
one  way — the  way  of  wife  and  children.  A  poor,  an 
uncertain  way;  nevertheless  the  only  way. 

You  have,  perhaps,  observed  the  marriages  of  the 
rich.  You  have  noted  that  every  rich  man  and  every 
rich  woman  is  surrounded  by  a  smaller  or  larger  army 
of  satellites — persons  nominally  their  social  equals,  often 
distinctly  their  mental  superiors,  salaried  persons,  wear 
ers  of  cast-off  clothing,  eaters  of  luncheons  and  dinners, 
permanent  free  lodgers,  constant  or  occasional  pension 
ers  more  or  less  disguised.  Family  life  fails  with  the 
rich  as  it  fails  with  the  well-off,  or  with  the  poor.  But 
while  other  classes  revert  to  the  herd  life,  the  life  of 
clubs,  saloons,  teas,  receptions,  the  rich  take  up  the 
parasite-beset  life,  each  rich  person  aloof  with  his  or  her 
particular  circle  of  flatterers,  attendants,  coat-holders, 
joke-makers,  and  boot-lickers. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  for  me  there  could  be  no 
enduring  of  this  standing  apart  in  the  meadow,  switch 
ing  my  tail  while  parasites  bit  and  tickled,  buzzed  and 
burrowed.  Riches,  like  any  other  heavy  and  constantly 
growing  responsibility,  usually  rob  a  man  of  his  sense 
of  humor  and  turn  his  thoughts  in  upon  himself  and 
make  him  a  ridiculous  ass  of  an  egotist.  They  had  not 
had  that  effect  upon  me.  I  can  give  no  reason ;  I  simply 

440 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

state  the  fact.  So,  with  my  sense  of  humor  active,  and 
my  sense  of  proportion  fairly  well  balanced,  I  could  not 
give  myself  up  to  the  dreary  life  custom  assigns  to  the 
rich.  I  retained  the  normal  human  instincts. 

I  had  hoped  to  satisfy  them  to  the  uttermost  with 
the  aid  of  Mary  Kirkwood.  That  hope  had  fallen  dead. 
I  must  search  on — not  for  the  best  conceivable,  but  for 
the  best  possible. 

You  are  not  surprised  at  my  lack  of  sentiment, 
gentle  reader.  By  this  time,  I  am  sure,  I  could  not 
surprise  you  with  any  exhibition  of  that  or  other  de 
pravity.  But  it  confirms  your  conviction  of  my  utter 
sordidness.  So  ?  Then  you  imagine,  do  you,  that  there 
are  many  love  marriages  in  the  world,  leaving  out  of 
the  count  those  in  novels  and  in  the  twaddling  gossip 
men  and  women  repeat  as  the  true  heart  stories  of  this 
and  that  person?  Yes,  I  should  say  your  intelligence 
was  about  rudimentary  enough  to  give  you  such  a  false 
notion  of  life  as  it  is  lived.  Marriages  of  passion  there 
are  a-plenty.  Rarely,  indeed,  does  a  man  become  bill- 
payer  to  a  woman  for  life — not  to  speak  of  the  insurance 
— without  having  been  more  or  less  agitated  by  her 
physical  charms;  and  usually  the  woman,  eager  to  be 
married,  whips  up  for  him  a  return  feeling  that  looks 
well,  convinces  the  man  and  herself,  and  makes  you, 
gentle  reader,  sigh  and  wipe  your  sloppy  eyes.  But 
love-marriage— that's  a  wholly  different  matter.  I 
should  say  it  almost  never  occurs.  Where  lore,  a  senti 
ment  of  slow  and  reluctant  growth,  does  happen  oc 
casionally  to  come  afterwards,  because  the  two  are  really 
congenial,  really  mated — where  love  does  come  after- 

441 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STGEY 

wards,  it  did  not  exist  when  the  wedding  bells  rang. 
And  I  doubt  not  that  love  has  grown  as  often,  if  not 
oftener,  where  the  motives  that  led  to  the  marriage  were 
practical  and  even  sordid  than  where  they  were  the 
bright,  swift  fading,  and  in  death  most  foul-smelling, 
flowers  of  passion. 

I  was  willing  to  buy  a  wife,  if  I  could  find  a  woman 
who  promised  to  wear  well,  to  improve  on  acquaintance, 
or,  at  least,  not  to  deteriorate.  And,  beyond  question, 
with  my  money  I  could  have  taken  my  pick.  Almost 
any  girl  anywhere,  engaged  or  unengaged,  would  have 
fallen  in  love  with  me  as  soon  as  she  discovered  my 
charms — of  person  and  of  purse.  Yes,  would  have  > 
fallen  in  love,  gentle  reader.  Don't  you  know  that  a  i 
nice,  pure  girl  always  makes  herself,  or  lets  herself,  fall 
in  love,  before  she  gives  herself?  And  don't  you  know 
that,  except  falling  out  of  love — out  of  that  kind  of  love 
— there's  nothing  easier,  especially  for  an  inexperienced 
girl,  than  falling  in  love — in  that  kind  of  love? 

But  where  was  I  to  find  a  woman  with  enough  solid 
quality  to  give  me  a  reasonable  hope  that  she  would  aid 
me  in  my  quest  for  family  happiness? 

Do  not  denounce  me,  gentle  reader.  Epithet  and 
hiss  are  not  reply.  Answer  my  question. 

You  say  there  are  millions  of  such  girls.  Yes? 
But  where? 

You  say  there  are  millions  of  pure,  sweet,  charm 
ing  girls,  intelligent  and  domestic.     Yes.      No  doubt. 
But    how   long   would   they    remain   so   if   tempted   by ; 
wealth,  by  the  example  of  all  the  money-mad,  luxury-  4 
mad,  society-mad  women  about  them? 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

Mind  you,  I  did  not  want  a  stupid  rotter,  a  cow,  a 
sitter  and  lounger  and  taker  on  of  fat  and  slougher 
off  of  intelligence.  I  did  not  want  the  lazy  slat 
tern  who  poses  as  domestic,  who  is  fond  of  home  in 
exactly  the  same  way  that  a  pig  is  fond  of  an  alley 
}  wallow. 

You  laugh  at  me.  You  say :  "  He  is  a  conceited 
fool ! — to  think  that  he  could  attract  and  absorb  an  in 
telligent  woman  with  a  complex  woman's  soul !  "  Not 
so,  gentle  reader.  I  did  not  wish  to  attract  and  to  ab 
sorb  her.  As  for  the  "  complex  woman's  soul,"  the 
less  I  saw  or  heard  of  it,  the  better  pleased  I'd  be.  I 
simply  wanted  a  woman  who  would  join  me  in  being 
attracted  by  and  absorbed  in  family  life. 

You  are  still  smiling  mockingly.  But  let  me  tell 
you  a  few  secrets  of  wisdom  and  happiness.  First — 
Friendship  is  divine,  but  intimacy  is  the  devil  himself — 
unless  it  is  the  intimacy  of  the  family.  Second — To 
love  your  neighbor  as  yourself,  he  must  be  and  must 
remain  your  neighbor,  that  is  to  say,  within  hail,  but 
not  within  touch.  Third — Husband,  wife,  and  children 
are  the  only  natural  intimates — intimate  because  they 
have  the  bond  of  common  interest.  The  family  that 
looks  abroad  for  intimates  has  ceased  to  be  a  family. 
Finally — A  man  who  has  his  wife  and  children  for  in 
timates  has  neither  need  nor  time  for  other  intimates ; 
and  unless  a  man's  wife  and  children  are  his  intimates, 
he  has,  in  fact,  no  wife  and  no  children.  Let  me  add, 
for  the  benefit  of — perhaps  of  you  and  your  husband, 
gentle  reader — that  the  only  career  worth  having  is 
built  upon  and  with  efficient  work;  careers  made  with 

443 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

friendships,  gaddings,  pulls,  and  the  like  would  better 
be  left  unmade. 

You  are  smiling  still,  in  your  smug,  supercilious 
fashion — smiling  at  what  you  promptly  call  old-fash 
ioned  trite  truisms.  I  am  not  sure  that,  after  they  have 
been  thought  about  a  while,  they  would  seem  old-fash 
ioned  or  stale.  Rather,  I  flatter  myself,  they  are  the 
statement  of  a  new  philosophy  of  life.  For  the  old 
theory  with  which  you  are  confusing  these  truths  was 
that  the  family  is  the  social  unit.  In  fact,  it  is  not; 
the  only  social  units  are  individuals — capable  individ 
uals.  My  theory,  or  rather  my  philosophy — for  it  is 
more  than  a  theory — my  philosophy  is  that  the  family 
is  the  unit  of  happiness.  Society  can — and  does — get 
along  fairly  well  with  little  or  no  happiness.  But  hap 
piness  is  an  excellent  thing,  nevertheless.  And  I 
wanted  it. 

Now,  perhaps,  you  see  why  I  was  not  looking  for 
ward  with  any  exuberance  of  optimism  to  finding  the 
woman  whom  I  needed  and  wanted,  and  who  needed  and 
wanted  me.  Prompted  by  my  experiences  and  guided 
somewhat  by  my  shrewd  and  cynical  friend  Bob  Armi- 
tage,  I  had  been  giving  no  small  amount  of  spare  time 
to  observing  and  thinking  about  the  American  woman. 
And  while  I  admired  that  charming  lady  and  found  her 
an  amusing  companion  for  an  occasional  leisure  hour, 
I  saw  that  she  was  not  to  be  taken  seriously  by  a  seri 
ous  person.  She  knew  how  to  look  well,  how  to  make 
a  good  "  front,"  how  to  get  perhaps  a  hundred  dollars 
worth  of  pleasing  surface  results  by  squandering  a 
thousand  or  two  thousand  dollars.  As  an  ornament, 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

a  decoration,  as  a  basket  of  rare  inedible  fruit  to  irra 
diate  lovely  costliness,  she  could  not  be  beaten.  As  wife 
to  a  showy  plutocrat,  ignorant  of  the  art  of  comfort 
able  living,  as  head  mistress  to  an  European  noble  with 
servants  trained  to  maintain  his  state  in  splendid  and 
orderly  discomfort,  she  would  do  excellently  well.  But 
not  for  the  practical  uses  of  sensible  life.  She  had  no 
training  for  them,  no  taste  for  them,  no  intention  of 
adapting  herself  to  them,  whatever  she  might  pretend 
in  order  to  catch  a  bill-payer. 

Still,  I  did  not  despair.  I  dared  not  despair.  If  I 
had,  loneliness — and  heartache,  yes,  heartache — and 
my  sense  of  present  and  future  futility  would  have  be 
come  intolerable.  On  the  other  hand,  while  there  was 
every  reason  for  haste — when  happiness  was  my  goal, 
ana  life  is  short  and  uncertain — I  was  resolved  to  be 
deliberate.  If  I  should  be  deceived — perhaps  by  the 
girl's  honest  self-deception — into  choosing  wrong,  how 
she  would  hate  me!  For  not  again  would,  or  could  I 
let  a  woman  use  me  as  Edna  had  used  me.  A  fool  is  a 
grown-up  person  who  has  never  grown  up.  I  had 
grown  up — had  become  a  definite  person,  knowing  what 
I  wanted  and  what  I  did  not  want.  Such  persons  are 
hated  by  those  who  try  in  vain  to  use  them.  My  one 
chance  lay  in  finding  a  woman  with  the  same  definite 
tastes  as  mine.  Only  disaster  could  come  through  the 
woman  who  might  marry  me,  pretending  to  agree  with 
me  and  secretly  resolved  to  "  redeem  "  me  once  she  got 
me  firmly  in  her  grasp. 

Armitage  was  back  in  New  York,  was  eager  to  re 
sume  our  old  relations.  But  that  could  not  be.  I  had 
29  445 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

outgrown  him.  And  he,  at  the  dangerous  age,  was  al 
lowing  himself  to  harden  into  all  the  habits  of  the  rich 
class  and  of  middle  life.  Despite  his  efforts  to  conceal 
it,  I  saw  that  he  had  even  reached  the  pass  where  a 
man  of  property  regards  a  new  idea  as  a  menace  to 
society.  If  it  is  a  new  invention,  it  may  make  some 
stock  he  owns  worthless.  If  it  is  a  new  social  or  politi 
cal  idea  it  may  make  his  laborers  demand  higher  wages, 
or  in  some  other  way  affect  his  dividends.  And,  of 
course,  whenever  a  man  speaks  of  a  menace  to  society, 
he  means  a  menace  to  himself  whom  he  naturally  re 
gards  as  the  most  precious  and  vital  thread  in  the 
social  fabric.  Compelled  by  my  need  for  ideas  to 
occupy  me  in  supplement  to  the  now  thoroughly  fa 
miliar  and  rather  monotonous  routine  of  investing  and 
reinvesting,  organizing  and  reorganizing,  I  was  asso 
ciating  more  and  more  with  artists  and  writers  of 
the  sort  who  feel  suffocated  in  the  society  of  the  merely 
rich. 

Material  conditions  force  upon  men  inexorable  modes 
of  life.  And  every  mode  of  life  breeds  a  definite,  dis 
tinct  set  of  ideas.  Men  fancy  themselves  original  be 
cause  they  suddenly  discover  certain  ideas  in  their 
brains.  As  well  might  a  hen  who  has  just  eaten  hot  bran 
fancy  herself  original  because  she  laid  an  egg.  The  idea 
was  not  from  the  man,  but  from  his  material  conditions 
— lawyer  idea,  politician  idea,  banker  idea,  anarchist 
idea,  big  or  little  merchant  idea,  dog-fighter  idea,  pro 
fessor  idea,  preacher  idea,  and  so  on.  I  was  fighting  to 
escape  this  to  me  repellent  molding  process — and  I  was 
making  headway.  But  poor  Armitage  was  rapidly  yield- 

446 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ing;  his  struggle,  I  fear,  had  been  in  its  best  days  in 
large  part  a  brassy  make-believe — the  valor  of  the  trum 
pet,  not  of  the  sword. 

He  was  a  sorry  sight.  His  once  handsome  face  was 
taking  on  that  petty,  pinched,  frost-bitten  Fifth  Avenue 
expression.  And  he  had  been  driven  for  companionship 
into  forming  the  familiar  parasite  circle.  The  chief 
figures  in  it  were  a  decaying  dandy  of  an  old  New  York 
family  who  had  been  fawner  and  crumb  snapper  all  his 
days,  and  a  broken-down  plutocrat  who  had  squandered 
his  fortune  on  fine  women,  fine  wine,  and  fine  food.  The 
dandy  gave  Bob  the  fashionable  gossip ;  the  broken-down 
plutocrat  gave  him  the  gossip  and  scandal  of  the 
giddy  part  of  town,  also  the  latest  gamey  stories;  also 
he — perhaps  both — arranged  for  him  the  peculiar  pleas 
ures  of  the  rich  man  with  the  palate  that  needs  strong 
sensations  to  make  it  respond. 

Armitage  was  out  of  the  question  for  me.    Then 

I  drifted  into  the  Amsterdam  Club  one  evening — to 
write  a  note  or  send  a  telegram — and  there  sat  Hartley 
Beechman.  The  instant  he  saw  me  he  sprang  up  and 
made  straight  for  me.  His  expression  was  puzzling,  but 
not  hostile — still,  I  was  unobtrusively  ready.  Said  he 
in  a  straight,  frank  fashion: 

"  Loring,  I  want  to  apologize  to  you.  I  made  a 
damned  ass  of  myself  in  Green  Park  last  summer.  My 
excuse  is  that  I  was  more  than  half  crazy " 

I  put  out  my  hand.  "  I  half  guessed  at  the  time," 
said  I.  "  I  know  all  about  it  now." 

We  looked  at  each  other  with  the  friendliness  that 
has  become  the  stronger  by  a  mended  break — for  broken 

447 


THE   HUSBAND'S    STORY 

hearts  and  broken  lives  and  broken  friendships  are  much 
the  stronger  if  the  break  mends.     Said  he : 

"  One  way  of  measuring  the  strength  of  a  man  is  the 
length  of  the  intervals  between  the  times  when  he  makes 
a  fool  of  himself  about  a  woman.  My  first  came  at 
eighteen,  my  next  at  thirty-eight.  Not  a  bad  showing, 
I  flatter  myself— eh?  " 

"  Uncommonly  good,"  said  I. 

"  And  the  second  shall  be  the  last." 

"  Optimism !  "  I  warned  him  laughingly.  "  Beware 
of  optimism !  " 

"  No.  I  shall  write  about  women,  but  I'll  see  no  more 
of  them.  I've  got  hold  of  myself  again.  I'm  as  good 
as  ever — better  than  ever,  probably.  But — it  cost !  And 
I'll  not  pay  that  price  again.  For  a  while  I  thought  it 
was  you  who  had  upset  my  happiness.  Then — "  He 
gave  a  loud,  unnatural  laugh — "  That  German  purchase! 
I  saw  she  had  been  simply  playing  with  me.  You  know 
how  fond  women  of  that  sort  are  of  playing  with  roman* 
tic  or  sentimental  ideas.  But  when  it  came  to  the  test — 
why,  she  would  have  married  only  a  fortune  or  a  title." 

I  made  no  comment.  He  was  saying  only  what  I 
thought,  what  I  believed  true.  But  I  hated  to  hear  it. 

"  I  may  wrong  her,"  pursued  he  reflectively.  "  Not 
altogether,  but  to  a  certain  extent.  I  rather  think  the 
impulse  to  something  saner  and  less  vulgar  was  there — 
actually  there." 

As  he  was  looking  at  me  inquiringly  I  said :  "  I 
think  so." 

"  But — nothing  came  of  it.  And  there's  little  in 
these  fine  impulses  of  which  nothing  comes." 

448 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Little?  "  laughed  I.  "  Why,  they  produce  the  most 
beautiful  decorative  effects.  Life  would  be  barren  with 
out  them.  What  a  repulsive  sight  the  poor  little  human 
animal  would  be,  grunting  and  grubbing  about,  thinking 
always  of  its  beloved  self — what  a  repulsive  sight  if  it 
didn't  wear  the  flowers  of  high  ideals  in  its  ears — and 
the  jewels  of  fine  impulses  ringed  in  its  nose." 

"  /  think  it  would  look  better  without  them,"  said  he. 
"  Less  ridiculous — less  contemptible." 

"  To  you — yes.  Because  you're  like  I  am — coarse. 
But  riot  to  itself  and  its  fellows." 

"  I'm  going  back  to  the  woods  to-morrow,"  said  he. 

"  Better  come  on  a  yachting  trip  to  South  America 
with  me,"  said  I. 

He  flushed.  "  Thank  you— but  I  can't  do  that,"  re 
plied  he.  "  I  can't  afford  it." 

It  was  my  turn  to  flush.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I 
said.  "  I  spoke  without  thinking — spoke  on  impulse. 
You  are  quite  right." 

"  A  man's  a  fool  or  a  sycophant  who  goes  where  he 
can't  pay  his  own  way,"  continued  he.  "  I've  come  to 
realize  that.  I'll  do  it  no  more.  I'll  stick  to  my  own 
class.  I've  been  justly  punished  for  blundering  out  of 
it.  But  not  so  severely  punished  as  I  should  have  been 
had  my — "  he  smiled  ironically — "  my  love  affair  pros 
pered." 

He  thought  for  several  minutes,  then  he  said :  Ci  I 
wonder — when  the  clash  caine — would  I  have  gone  with 
her  or  she  with  me  ?  " 

I  did  not  reply. 

He  pulled  himself  together,  smiled  mockingly  at  his 
449 


THE   HUSBAND'S 


own  folly  of  lingering  near  the  unsightly  and  not  too 
aromatic  corpse.  "  I  must  get  into  the  woods  and 
breathe  it  out  of  my  system.  Did  you  see  the  account 
of  the  arrangements  for  her  approaching  marriage  in 
this  evening's  paper?  Nearly  a  page  —  and  I  read  every 
line." 

When  he  had  finished  his  drink  he  rose  and  departed 

—  and  I  have  not  talked  with  him  since.    He  resumed  his 
career;  we  all  know  how  brilliant  it  is.     As  I  have  said 
before,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  silly  notion,  bruited 
about  by  silly  flabby  people  that  women  ruin  the  lives 
of  strong  men.     Now  and  then  a  woman  may  be  the 
proverbial  last  straw  that  breaks  the  camel's  back.    But 
there's  a  vast  difference  between  woman  the  actuality, 
woman  the  mere  last  straw,  and  woman  the  vampire,  the 
scarlet  destroyer  as  portrayed  in  novels   and  so-called 
histories.     Those  mighty  men,  made  or  ruined  by  women 

—  why  do  we  never  see  them,  why  do  we  only  read  about 
them  ? 

I  resisted  the  temptation  to  follow  Beechman's  ex 
ample  and  read  the  newspaper  account  of  Mary  Kirk- 
wood's  approaching  apotheosis  into  the  heaven  that  is 
the  dream  of  all  true  American  ladies.  There  is  but 
one  way  to  do  a  thing  —  and  that  is  to  do  it.  I  had 
destroj^ed  or  sent  back  the  letters  ;  I  had  resisted  the  tele 
gram.  I  could  not  yet  bar  my  mind  from  wandering  to 
her.  But  I  could  avoid  leading  it  to  her  —  and  I  did. 
So  it  was  by  accident  that,  the  following  week,  I  one 
morning  let  my  eye  take  in  the  whole  of  a  four-line  news 
paper  paragraph  before  I  realized  what  it  was  about. 
The  purport  was  that  the  engagement  between  Count 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOR Y 

von    Tilzer-Bor^feldt    and    Mrs.    Kirkwood   had     been 

O 

broken  off  because  of  a  "  failure  to  agree  as  to  settle 
ments."  This,  in  the  same  newspaper  that  contained 
two  columns  descriptive  of  the  quietly  gorgeous  mar 
riage  of  Frascatoni  and  Edna  in  my  son-in-law's  new 
house  near  London. 

"  Failure  to  agree  as  to  settlements — "     Faugh ! 

I  had  calmed  until  all  my  anger  against  her  was 
gone  and  I  was  thinking  of  her  as  merely  human,  as  the 
result  of  her  environment  like  everyone  else.  I  believed 
new  that  where  she  had  deceived  me  she  had  also  de 
ceived  herself.  And  I  saw  as  clearly  as  in  the  days  of 
my  infatuation  that  she  and  I  had  been  made  for  each 
other,  that  our  coming  together  had  been  one  of  those 
rare  meetings  of  two  who  are  entirely  congenial.  It 
filled  me  with  sadness  that  fate  had  not  been  kind  instead 
of  sardonically  cruel,  had  not  brought  us  together  ten 
years  earlier,  before  the  world  had  poisoned  her  origi 
nally  simple  and  sincere  nature.  But  how  absurd  to 
linger  over  impossible  might-have-beens  !  I  had  gone  as 
far  as  I  cared  to  go  in  the  company  of  those  who  have 
made  fools  of  themselves  for  love. 

I  believed  I  could  trust  myself  with  her  in  the  same 
neighborhood.  But  I  was  not  sure,  and  I  would  take  no 
chance.  A  few  days  after  I  read  of  the  broken  engage 
ment  I  departed  on  the  yachting  trip  to  South  America. 


XIV 

THEUE  were  but  two  in  my  party — Dugdale,  the 
playwright,  and  myself.  A  more  amusing  man  than 
Dugdale  never  lived.  He  was  amusing  both  consciously 
and  unconsciously.  A  mountain  of  a  man — bone  and 
muscle,  little  fat.  He  had  eyes  that  were  large,  but 
were  so  habitually  squinted,  the  better  to  see  every  de 
tail  of  everything,  that  they  seemed  small;  and  his  ex 
pression,  severe  to  the  verge  of  savageness,  changed  the 
instant  he  spoke  into  childlike  simplicity  and  good  hu 
mor.  He  made  money  easily — large  sums  of  money — 
for  he  had  the  talent  for  success.  But  he  spent  long 
before  he  made.  I  think  it  must  have  been  his  secret 
ambition  to  owe  everybody  in  the  world — except  his 
friends.  From  a  friend  he  never  borrowed.  The  gen 
eral  belief  was  that  he  had  never  paid  back  a  loan — 
and  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  What  did  he  do  with 
his  borrowings?  Loaned  them  to  his  friends  who  were 
hard  up.  If  the  list  of  those  he  owed  was  long,  the  list 
of  those  who  owed  him  was  longer.  If  he  never  paid 
back,  neither  was  he  ever  paid. 

He  could  work  at  sea,  or  anywhere  else — no  doubt 
even  in  a  balloon.  On  that  trip  he  toiled  prodigiously, 
crouched  over  a  foolish  little  table  in  his  cabin,  smoking 
endless  cigarettes  and  setting  down  with  incredible  rapid- 

452 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

ity  illegible  words  in  a  tiny  writing  that  contrasted  gro 
tesquely  with  the  enormous  hand  holding  the  pencil.  He 
labored  altogether  at  night,  after  I  had  gone  to  bed. 
He  was  always  astir  before  me.  He  slept  unbelievably 
little,  probably  kept  up  on  the  quantities  of  whisky  he 
drank.  However  that  may  be,  he  was  as  active  by  day 
physically  as  he  was  mentally  by  night.  He  was  all 
over  the  boat,  always  finding  something  to  do — some 
thing  for  me  as  well  as  for  himself. 

The  only  terms  on  which  Dugdale  would  consent  to 
go  were  that  I  should  keep  him  away  from  New  York  not 
less  than  two  months,  and  that  I  should  take  no  one  else. 
I  promptly  assented  to  both  conditions.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  he  had  put  me  under  a  heavy  debt  of  gratitude 
for  congenial  society.  We  had  made  several  long  trips 
together,  always  with  satisfaction  on  both  sides.  What 
ever  else  you  may  think  of  me,  I  hope  I  have  at  least  con 
vinced  you  that  I  am  not  one  of  those  rich  men  who  rely 
for  consideration  upon  their  wealth.  I  believe  I  am  one 
of  the  few  rich  men  who  can  j  ustly  claim  that  distinction. 
When  I  ask  a  man  less  well  off  than  I  am  to  dine  with  me 
— or  to  accept  my  hospitality  in  any  way — I  ask  him 
because  I  want  him.  And  I  do  not  either  directly  or  in 
directly  try  to  make  him  feel  that  he  is  being  honored.  I 
would  not  ask  the  sort  of  man  who  feels  honored  by 
being  in  the  society  of  bank  accounts  or  of  any  other 
glittering  symbols  in  substitute  for  good-fellowship. 

You  will  see,  gentle  reader,  that  my  list  was  short 
indeed. 

It  is  one  of  the  not  few  drawbacks  of  riches  that 
they  rouse  the  instinct  of  cupidity  in  nearly  all  human 

453 


STORY 


beings.  The  rich  man  glances  round  at  a  circle  of  con 
strained  faces,  each  more  or  less  unsuccessfully  striving 
to  veil  from  him  the  glistening  eye  and  the  watery  lip 
of  the  gold  hunger.  Probably  you  know  how  pepsin  is 
got  for  the  market  —  how  they  pen  pigs  so  that  their 
snouts  almost  touch  food  which  they  can  by  no  straining 
and  struggling  reach  ;  how  the  unhappy  creatures  soon 
begin  to  drip,  then  to  slobber,  then  to  stream  into  the 
receiving  trough  under  their  jaws  the  pepsin  which  the 
sight  of  the  food  starts  their  stomachs  to  secreting.  As 
I  have  looked  at  the  parasite  circles  of  some  of  my  friends 
I  have  often  been  reminded  of  the  pepsin  pigs.  Some  of 
my  friends  like  these  displays,  encourage  them  in  every 
way,  associate  solely  with  pepsin  pigs.  I  confess  I  have 
never  acquired  the  least  taste  for  that  sort  of  entertain 
ment. 

I  have  traveled  the  world  over,  and  everywhere  I 
have  found  men  either  industriously  engaged  in  cring 
ing  or  looking  hopefully  about  for  some  one  to  cringe 
to  them.  Well  —  what  of  it? 

I  owe  Dugdale  a  debt  I  cannot  hope  to  repay.  He, 
a  light-hearted  philosopher,  made  me  light-hearted.  He 
kept  my  sense  of  humor  and  my  sense  of  proportion 
constantly  active.  There  is  a  stripe  of  philosopher  of 
the  light-hearted  variety  who  lets  his  perception  of  the 
fundamental  futility  of  life  and  all  that  therein  is,  dis 
courage  him  from  everything  but  cynical  laughter  at 
himself  and  at  the  world.  That  sort  is  a  shallow  ass, 
fit  company  for  no  one  but  the  bleary,  blowsy  wrecks 
to  whose  level  he  rapidly  sinks.  Dugdale  —  and  I  —  were 
of  the  other  school.  We  did  not  —  at  least,  not  habit- 

454 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


ually — exaggerate  our  own  importance.  It  caused  no 
swelling  of  the  head  in  him  that  his  name  was  known 
wherever  people  went  to  the  theater,  or  in  me  that  I 
usually  had  to  be  taken  into  account  when  they  did  any 
thing  important  in  finance.  We  did  not  measure  the 
world  or  rank  its  inhabitants  according  to  the  silly 
standards  in  general  use.  But  at  the  same  time  we 
appreciated  that  to  work  and  to  work  well  was  the  only 
sensible  way  to  pass  the  few  swift  years  assigned  us. 

It  takes  a  serious  man  to  make  even  a  good  joke.  A 
frivolous  person  can  do  nothing.  That  is  why  so  many 
of  our  American  women,  and  so  many  of  the  men,  too, 
sink  into  insignificance  as  soon  as  the  first  freshness  of 
youth  is  gone  from  them.  Youth  has  charm  simply  as 
youth  because  it  seems  to  be  a  brilliant  promise.  When 
the  promise  goes  to  protest  the  charm  vanishes. 

I  shall  reserve  what  I  saw  and  heard  in  South  Amer 
ica  for  another  volume,  one  of  a  different  kind.  I  shall 
go  forward  to  the  following  spring  when  I  was  once 
more  in  New  York.  Edna  and  her  daughter — so  I  read 
in  the  newspapers — were  living  in  fitting  estate  in  a  fa 
mous  villa  they  had  taken  in  the  fashionable  part  of  the 
south  of  France,  "  for  the  health  of  the  two  young  sons 
of  the  marchioness."  Frascatoni  was  gambling  at  Monte 
Carlo,  Crossley  was  at  his  government  post  in  London. 
I  could  fill  in  the  tiresome  details  for  both  the  wives  and 
the  husbands — and  so,  probably,  can  you.  While  some 
business  matters  were  settling,  I  was  turning  over  in  my 
mind  plans  for  making  a  systematic  search  for  a  wife. 

I  count  on  your  amusement  confidently,  gentle  reader. 
If  you  wished  a  fresh  egg  for  your  breakfast  or  a  suit 

455 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

of  clothes  to  be  worn  a  few  weeks  and  discarded,  or  an 
automobile,  you  would  set  about  getting  it  with  some 
attention  to  the  best  ways  and  means.  But,  saturated 
as  you  are  with  silly  sentimentalities  about  marriage, 
you  believe  that  the  most  important  matter  in  the  world 
— the  matter  which  determines  your  own  happiness  or  un- 
happiness  and  also  the  current  of  posterity — you  believe 
that  such  a  matter  should  be  left  to  the  lottery  of  chance ! 
Well,  I  had  long  since  abandoned  that  delusion,  and  I 
purposed  to  establish  my  life  with  as  much  thought  and 
care  as  I  gave  all  other  matters. 

"  A  dull  fellow,"  you  are  saying.  "  No  wonder  his 
wife  fled  from  him." 

I  do  not  wonder  that  you  regard  as  dull  anything 
that  is  intelligent.  To  ignorance  intelligence  must  neces 
sarily  seem  dull.  When  any  subject  of  real  interest  is 
brought  up,  some  silly,  empty-headed  pretty  woman  is 
sure  to  say,  "  How  dull !  Let's  talk  of  something  inter 
esting."  And  there  will  always  be  a  chorus  of  laughing 
assent — because  the  woman  is  pretty.  So  I  accept  your 
sneer  at  me  with  a  certain  pleasure.  I  wish  to  be  thought 
dull  by  some  people,  including  some  women  very  good  to 
look  at.  But  out  of  vanity  and  in  fairness  to  Edna  I 
must  acquit  her  of  having  thought  me  dull — after  she 
had  been  about  the  world. 

One  evening  at  the  Federal  Club  I  fell  in  with  my 
old  acquaintance,  Sam  Cauldwell,  the  fashionable  physi 
cian.  He  was  something  more  than  that — or  had  been — 
but  was  too  lazy  to  use  his  mind  when  his  gift  for  sym 
pathetic  and  flattering  gab  brought  him  in  plenty  of 
money.  Cauldwell  was  a  trained,  thoroughgoing  syccv- 

456 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 


phant  and  snob.  But  he  saw  the  humorous  aspect  of  the 
gods  he  was  on  his  knees  before — and  saw  the  humor  of 
his  being  there.  He  knew  the  kind  of  man  I  was,  and 
liked  to  take  me  aside  and  make  sport  of  his  deities  for 
an  hour  over  a  bottle  of  wine.  Also — he  liked  the  idea 
of  being,  and  of  being  seen,  intimate  with  a  man  con 
spicuous  for  wealth  and  for  the  social  position  of  his 
family — the  ex-husband  of  a  princess,  the  father  of  a 
marchioness.  Gentle  reader,  if  you  wish  to  see  human 
nature  to  its  depth,  you  must  occupy  such  a  position  as 
mine.  Believe  me,  you  are  mistaken  in  thinking  the  traits 
you  shamedly  hide  are  unique.  There  are  others  like  you 
— many  others. 

Cauldwell  was  perhaps  ten  years  older  than  I,  but 
being  a  well-taken-care-of  New  Yorker,  he  passed  for  a 
young  man — which,  indeed,  he  was.  I  do  not  regard 
fifty  as  anything  but  young  unless  it  insists  upon  an 
other  estimate  by  looking  older  than  it  really  is.  I  shall 
assuredly  be  young  at  fifty,  perhaps  younger  than  I  am 
now,  for  I  take  better  care  of  my  health  every  year — 
and  I  have  health  worth  taking  care  of.  But,  as  I  was 
about  to  say,  Cauldwell  had  a  meditative  look  that  night 
as  we  sat  down  to  dinner  together.  And  when  he  had 
drunk  his  third  glass  of  champagne  he  said: 

"  Loring,  why  the  devil  don't  you  get  married?  " 

I  felt  that  he  had  something  especial  to  say  to  me. 
I  answered  indifferently,  "  Why  don't  you?  " 

"  Very  simple,"  replied  he.  "  Not  rich  enough.  To 
marry  in  New  York  a  man  must  be  either  a  pauper  or 
a  Croesus." 

"  Then  marry  a  rich  girl,"  said  I. 
457 


"  I'd  have  done  it  long  ago  if  I  could,"  he  confessed 
with  a  laugh.  "  But  I've  never  been  able  to  get  at  the 
girls  who  are  rich  enough.  Their  mammas  guard  them 
for  plutocrats  or  titles.  But  you —  Really,  it's  a  shame 
for  you  to  stay  single.  I  know  a  dozen  women  who' re 
losing  sleep  longing  for  you — for  themselves,  or  for  some 
lovely  young  daughter." 
"  Pathetic,"  said  I. 

"  I  see  that  irritates  you.      Well — you  needn't  be 

alarmed.      You're   famed   for  being   about  the  wariest 

bird  in  the  preserves.    And  I  know  you  don't  want  that 

kind  of  woman.    Why  not  take  the  kind  you  do  want  ?  " 

"Where  is  she?  "  said  I. 

"  I  could  name  a  dozen,"  rejoined  he.  "  But  I  shan't 
name  any.  I  have  one  in  mind.  A  doctor  has  the  best 
opportunity  in  the  world  to  find  out  about  women — about 
men,  too — the  truth  about  them." 

I  laughed.  "  If  I  wanted  misinformation  about 
human  nature,"  said  I,  "  I'd  go  to  a  doctor — or  a 
preacher.  They're  the  depositories  of  all  the  hysterical 
tommyrot,  all  the  sentimental  lies  that  vain  women  and 
men  think  out  about  themselves  and  their  sex  relations." 
His  smile  was  not  a  denial.  "  Yes,  I've  been  rather 
credulous,  I'll  admit,"  said  he.  "  And  men  and  women 
}  do  tell  the  most  astounding  whoppers  about  themselves. 
Especially  women,  having  trouble  with  their  husbands. 
I  try  not  to  believe,  but  I'm  caught  every  once  in  a 
while." 

A  gleam  in  his  eye  made  me  wonder  whether  he 
wasn't  thinking  of  some  yarn  Edna  had  spun  for  him 
about  me.  Probably.  There  are  precious  few  women, 

458 


THEHUSBAND'S   STOE  Y 

even  among  the  fairly  close-mouthed,  who  don't  take 
advantage  of  the  family  doctor  to  indulge  in  the  passion 
for  romancing. 

"  But  I  wasn't  thinking  of  any  confession,"  he  went 
on.  "  Several  women  have  confessed  a  secret  passion 
for  you  to  me — with  the  hope  that  I'd  help  them.  The 
woman  I  have  in  mind  isn't  that  sort.  I  don't  know 
that  she  cares  anything  about  you.  I  only  know  that 
she's  exactly  the  woman  for  you." 

"  Interesting,"  said  I. 

"  She's  young — unusually  pretty — and  in  a  distin 
guished  way.  She  knows  how  to  run  a  house  as  a  home 
— and  she's  about  the  only  woman  I  know  in  our  class 
who  does.  She's  got  a  good  mind — not  for  a  woman, 
but  for  anybody.  And  she  needs  a  husband  and  chil 
dren  and  a  home." 

He  must  have  misunderstood  the  peculiar  expression 
of  my  face,  for  he  hastened  on : 

"  Not  that  she's  poor.  On  the  contrary,  she's  rich. 
I'd  not  recommend  a  poor  girl  to  you.  Poor  girls  can 
think  of  nothing  but  money — naturally." 

"  Everybody,  rich  and  poor,  thinks  of  money — nat 
urally,"  said  I. 

"  Guess  you're  right,"  laughed  he.  "  But  it  looks 
worse  in  a  poor  girl." 

"  I  should  say  the  opposite.  A  feeding  glutton 
looks  worse  than  a  feeding  famished  man." 

"  At  any  rate — this  woman  I  have  in  mind  isn't  poor. 
That's  not  a  disadvantage,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  hopeless  obstacle,"  said  I.  "  By  the  way, 
what  are  her  disadvantages  ?  " 

459 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 

"  Well — she's  been  married  before." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  I. 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  she  has  no  children." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  I,  without  thinking.  I 
hastened  to  add,  "  My  only  child  is  married." 

"  And  splendidly  married,"  said  he  with  the  snob's 
enthusiasm. 

"To  return  to  the  lady,"  said  I  dryly.  "Why 
don't  you  marry  her  yourself?  " 

He  had  drunk  several  more  glasses  of  the  champagne. 
He  laughed.  "  She  wouldn't  look  at  me.  She  sees 
straight  through  me.  She  wants  a  man  with  domestic 
tastes.  I'm  about  as  fit  for  domestic  life  as  a  fire-engine 
horse  for  an  old  maid's  phaeton." 

"  Well— who  is  it?  "  said  I. 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  think  she's  been  at  me  to  help 
her.  But,  on  my  honor,  Loring,  she  isn't  that  sort. 
We've  talked  of  you.  For  some  reason,  ever  since  I've 
known  her — well,  I've  never  seen  her  without  thinking 
of  you.  I  often  talk  of  you  to  her — not  marrying  talk 
— I'd  not  dare — but  in  a  friendly  sort  of  way.  She 
listens — says  nothing." 

"  But  she  is  sickly,"  said  I. 

"  Sickly?  "  he  cried.  He  looked  horrified  and  amazed,. 
"  Good  Lord,  what  gave  you  that  notion?  " 

"  You  said  you  saw  her  often." 

"  Oh,  I  see.     It  was  her  brother  who  had  the  illness." 

"  All  right.  Bring  her  round  and  I'll  look  her 
over,"  said  I  carelessly.  And  I  forced  a  change  of 
subject. 

Had  Mary  Kirkwood  been  taking  this  agreeable,  in- 
460 


THE  HUSBAND'S   STORY 

sidious  doctor  into  her  confidence?  I  did  not  know.  I 
do  not  know.  I  have  reasons  for  thinking  he  told  the 
literal  truth.  And  yet — women  are  queer  about 
doctors.  However,  that's  a  small  matter.  The  thing 
that  impressed  me,  that  agitated  me  as  he  talked,  was 
the  picture  he,  by  implication,  was  making  of  Mary 
Kirkwood,  alone  again,  and  evidently  absolutely  unat 
tached — living  alone  in  the  country  as  when  I  first  knew 
her. 

I  tossed  and  fretted  away  most  of  the  hours  of  that 
night  with  the  result  that  at  breakfast  I  resolved  to  leave 
town  again,  to  put  the  width  of  the  continent  or  of  the 
ocean  between  me  and  temptation  to  folly.  But  one 
thing  and  another  came  up  to  detain  me.  It  was  per 
haps  ten  days  later  that  I,  walking  alone  in  the  Park,  as 
was  my  habit,  found  myself  at  a  turning  face  to  face 
with  her.  I  don't  think  my  expression  reflected  credit 
upon  my  boasted  self-control.  As  for  her — I  thought 
she  was  going  to  faint — and  she  is  not  one  of  the  faint 
ing  kind.  We  gazed  at  each  other  in  fright  and  em 
barrassment,  and  both  had  the  same  child's  impulse  to 
turn  and  fly — one,  of  those  sensible,  natural  instincts 
for  the  shortest  way  out  of  difficult  situations  that  the 
cowardly  conventionality  of  the  grown-up  estate  makes 
it  impossible  to  obey.  But — we  had  to  do  something. 
So,  we  laughed. 

She  put  out  her  hand ;  I  took  it.  "  How  well  you 
are  looking,"  said  I — and  it  was  the  truth. 

"  You,  too,"  said  she. 

I  turned  to  walk  with  her.  We  strolled  along  cheer 
fully  and  contentedly,  talking  of  the  early  spring,  of 
30  461 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STOEY 

flowers,  and  birds,  and  such  neutral  matters.  I  was 
fluent,  she  no  less  so.  Our  agitation  disappeared;  our 
sense  of  congeniality  returned.  Our  acquaintance 
seemed  to  have  jumped  back  to  where  it  was  before  we 
had  that  first  confidential  talk  together  on  the  yacht. 
After  perhaps  an  hour,  as  agreeable  an  hour  as  I  ever 
spent,  she  said  she  must  go  home,  as  she  had  an  engage 
ment.  On  the  way  to  the  Sixty-fifth  Street  entrance 
the  conversation  lagged  somewhat.  We  were  both 
busily  revolving  the  same  thing — the  matter  of  explana 
tions.  Now  that  I  was  seeing  her  again — a  wholly  dif 
ferent  matter  from  inspecting  my  defaced  and  smirched 
and  battered  image  of  her — battered  by  the  blows  of  my 
jealousy,  and  anger,  and  scorn — now  that  I  was  seeing 
her  again,  I  could  not  but  see  and  feel  that  she  was  in 
reality  a  sweet  and  simple  and  attractive  woman.  No 
doubt  she  had  her  faults — as  all  of  us  have — grave 
faults  of  inheritance,  of  education,,  of  environment.  But 
who  was  I  that  I  should  sit  in  judgment  on  her?  I 
realized  that  I  had  judged  her  unjustly  so  far  as 
her  treatment  of  me  was  concerned.  Assuming  that 
she  was  tainted  with  snobbishness,  assuming  that  her 
defects  were  as  bad  as  I  had  thought  in  my  worst 
paroxysms,  still  that  did  not  alter  the  charms  and  the 
fine  qualities. 

"  We  are  friends  ?  "  said  I  abruptly. 
"  I  hope  so,"  said  she.      She  added :  "  I  know  so." 
"  Without  discussion  or  explanation  ?  " 
"  That  is  best — don't  you  think?  "  replied  she.     "  I 
am — not — not  proud  of  some  things  I  did," 
"  Nor  I,  of  some  things  I  did." 
462 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


"  I  should  like  to  forget  them — my  own  and  yours." 

"  I,  too.  And  explanations  do  not  explain.  Let 
sleeping  dogs  lie." 

She  smiled  and  nodded.      She  said: 

"  The  latter  part  of  the  week  I'm  going  back  to  the 
country.  Perhaps  you'll  spend  Saturday  and  Sunday 
there?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I.  "  Let  me  know  at  the 
Federal  Club  if  your  plans  change." 

At  her  door  we  shook  hands,  but  both  lingered. 
Said  she: 

"  I  am  glad  we  are  friends  again." 

"  It  was  inevitable,"  I  replied.  "  We  like  each 
other  too  well  not  to  have  come  round.  Bitternesses 
and  enmities  are  stupid." 

"  And  sad,"  said  she. 

When  we  met  again — at  her  house  in  the  country — 
there  was  no  constraint  on  either  side.  We  knew  that 
neither  of  us  had  the  power  to  breach,  much  less  to  re 
move,  the  barrier  between  us.  We  ignored  its  existence 
— and  were  content. 

You  may  have  observed  that  I  have  rarely  been  able 
to  speak  of  Edna  without  resentment.  I  shall  now  tell 
you  why: 

The  friendship  between  Mary  Kirkwood  and  me  pres 
ently  set  the  newspaper  gossips  to  talking.  Our  engage 
ment  was  announced  again  and  again — the  announcement 
always  a  pretext  for  rehashing  the  story  of  the  matrimo 
nial  bankruptcy  through  which  each  had  passed.  But  as 
we  were  above  the  reach  of  the  missiles  of  the  scandalmon 
gers  the  worst  that  was  printed  produced  only  a  slight 

463 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


and  brief  irritation.  This  until  the  Princess  Frascatoni 
began  her  campaign  of  slander. 

I  shall  not  go  into  it.  I  shall  simply  say  that  she 
ordered  one  of  her  hangers-on — one  of  the  semi-literary 
parasites  to  be  found  in  the  train  of  every  rich  person — 
to  attack  Mary  and  me  as  keeping  up  an  intrigue  of 
long  standing,  the  one  that  was  the  real  cause  of  my 
wife's  divorcing  me.  When  I  read  the  first  of  these 
articles  I  believed,  from  certain  details,  that  no  one  in  the 
world  but  the  Princess  Frascatoni  could  have  inspired  it. 
But  with  my  habitual  caution  I  leashed  my  impetuous 
anger  and  did  not  condemn  her  until  I  had  investigated. 
Is  it  not  strange,  is  it  not  the  irony  of  fate  that  in  every 
serious  crisis  of  my  life,  except  one,  I  should  have  had 
coolness  and  self-control,  and  that  the  one  exception 
should  have  been  when  I  loved  Mary  Kirkwood  and  con 
demned  her  unheard  ?  After  all,  I  am  not  sure  that  love 
isn't  a  kind  of  lunacy. 

Why  did  Edna  engage  in  that  campaign  of  slander? 
Why  did  she  say  to  everyone  from  this  side  the  most  ma 
licious,  the  most  mendacious  things  about  my  relations 
with  Mrs.  Kirkwood — that  she  had  ignored  the  intrigue 
as  long  as  she  could  for  the  sake  of  her  dear  daughter; 
that  it  had  driven  her  from  New  York,  had  forced  her  to 
get  a  divorce,  and  so  on  through  the  gamut  of  malignant 
lying?  There  may  perhaps  be  a  clew  to  the  mystery  in 
the  failure  of  her  second  marriage — as  a  marriage,  I 
mean ;  not,  of  course,  as  a  social  enterprise,  for  there  it 
was  a  world-renowned  success.  If  the  clew  is  not  in 
Edna's  emptiness  of  heart  and  boredom,  then  I  can  sug 
gest  no  explanation.  I  imagine  she  had  been  hearing 

464 


THE   PIUS  BAND'S   STORY 


and  reading  the  gossip  about  an  impending  marriage 
between  Mrs.  Kirkwood  and  me  until  she  had  concluded 
that  there  must  be  truth  in  it — and  by  outrageous  slan 
der  she  hoped  to  make  it  impossible. 

The  first  effect  was  as  she  had  probably  calculated. 
Mary  and  I  avoided  each  other.  Mary  hid  herself  and 
would  see  no  one.  Armitage  and  I  for  a  time  kept  up  a 
pretense  of  close  friendship,  or,  rather,  publicly  again 
pretended  a  friendship  that  had  long  since  all  but  ceased. 
But  when  the  talk  both  in  the  newspapers  and  among  our 
acquaintances  grew  until  the  "  at  last  uncovered  scan 
dal  "  was  the  chief  topic  of  gossip,  he  and  I  almost 
stopped  speaking.  You  may  wonder  why  he  or  I  or  both 
of  us  did  not  "  do  something  "  to  crush  the  absurd  lie. 
Gentle  reader,  did  you  ever  try  to  kill  a  scandal?  It  is 
done  in  novels  and  on  the  stage ;  but  in  life  the  silly  ass 
who  draws  his  sword  and  attacks  a  pestilent  fog  accom 
plishes  nothing — beyond  attracting  more  attention  to  the 
fog  by  his  absurd  and  futile  gesticulations.  The  world 
had  made  up  its  nasty  little  mind  that  the  relations  be 
tween  Mary  Kirkwood,  divorced,  and  Godfrey  Loring, 
divorced,  were  not,  and  for  years  had  not  been,  what  they 
should  be.  And  the  matter  was  settled.  I  think  Armi 
tage  himself  believed.  I  know  Beechman  believed,  for  he 
pointedly  crossed  the  street  to  avoid  speaking  to  me. 

I  stood  this  for  a  month.  Then  I  went  down  to 
Mary's  place  on  Long  Island. 

You  may  imagine  the  excitement  my  coming  caused 
among  the  honest  yeomanry  gathered  at  the  station — 
those  worthy  folk  who  peep  and  pry  into  the  business  of 
their  fashionable  overlords,  and  are  learning  to  cringe  \ 

485 


THE   HUSBAND'S   STORY 


*  like  English  peasants.  I  found  Mary  setting  out  for  a 
ride — through  her  own  grounds ;  she  was  ashamed  to  ven 
ture  abroad.  I  came  upon  her  abruptly.  Instead  of  the 
terror  and  aversion  I  had  steeled  myself  to  meet,  I  got 
a  radiance  of  welcome  that  made  my  heart  leap.  But 
in  an  instant  she  had  remembered  and  was  almost  in  a 
panic. 

"  Please  send  the  groom  away  with  the  horse,"  said 
I.  "  Let  us  walk  up  and  down  here  before  the  house." 

She  hesitated,  obeyed. 

The  broad  space  before  the  house  was  laid  out  in 
hedges  and  blooming  beds  with  a  long,  straight  drive 
leading  in  one  direction  to  the  highroad,  in  the  other 
direction  to  stable,  carriage  house,  and  garage.  When 
we  were  securely  alone  I  said : 

"  Have  you  missed  me  ?  " 

"  Our  friendship  meant  a  lot  to  me,"  replied  she. 

"  I  have  discovered  that  it's  the  principal  thing  in 
my  life,"  said  I. 

We  paced  the  length  of  the  drive  toward  the  lodge  in 
silence.  As  we  turned  toward  the  house  again  I  said : 

"  I  have  chartered  the  largest  yacht  I  could  get — for 
a  cruise  round  the  world." 

A  pause,  then  she  in  a  constrained  voice :  "  When  do 
you  start?" 

"  Immediately,"  I  answered.     "  Perhaps  to-morrow." 

She  halted,  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  gazed  out 
through  the  shrubbery. 

"  You've  not  been  well?  "  said  I. 

"  I  never  am,  when  I  lose  interest  in  life,"  replied  she. 
"  You  will  be  gone — long?  " 

466 


THE 


"  Long,"  said  I.  "  Either  we  shall  not  see  each  other 
again  for  years  —  or  —  "  I  paused. 

After  a  wait  of  fully  a  minute  she  looked  inquiringly 
at  me, 

u  Mary,"  said  I,  "  shall  we  take  a  motor  launch  and 
go  over  to  Connecticut  and  be  married  ?  " 

She  began  to  walk  again,  I  keeping  pace  with  her. 
"  It's  the  only  sensible  thing  to  do,"  said  I.  "  It's  the 
only  way  out  of  this  mess.  And  to-morrow  we'll  sail 
away  and  not  come  back  until  —  until  we  are  good  and 
ready." 

I  waited  a  moment,  then  went  on,  and  I  had  the 
feeling  that  I  was  saying  what  we  were  both  thinking: 
"  We've  had  the  same  experience  —  have  been  through 
the  same  bankruptcy.  It  has  taught  us,  I  think  —  I  hope 
—  I  can't  be  sure  ;  human  nature  learns  slowly  and  badly. 
But  I  see  a  good  chance  for  us  —  not  to  be  utterly  and 
always  blissfully  happy,  but  to  get  far  more  out  of  life 
than  either  is  getting  —  or  could  get  alone." 

As  we  turned  at  the  group  of  outbuildings  she  looked 
at  me  and  I  at  her  —  a  look  straight  into  each  other's 
souls.  And  then  and  there  was  born  that  which  alone 
can  make  a  marriage  successful  or  a  life  worth  the  liv 
ing.  What  is  the  difference  between  friendship  and  love  ? 
I  had  thought  —  and  said  —  that  love  was  friendship  in 
bloom.  But  as  Mary  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  I  knew 
the  full  truth.  Love  is  friendship  set  on  fire.  We  did 
not  speak.  We  glanced  hastily  away.  At  the  front 
door  she  halted.  In  a  quiet,  awed  voice  she  said  : 

"  I'll  change  from  this  riding  suit." 

And  what  did  I  say,  gentle  reader,  to  commemorate 
467 


THE   HUSBAND'S 


our  standing  upon  holy  ground?  I  did  no  better  than 
she.  With  eyes  uncertain  and  voice  untrustworthy  and 
hoarse  I  said: 

"  And  tell  your  maid  to  pack  and  go  to  town  with 
the  trunks  —  go  to  the  landing  at  East  Twenty-third 
Street.  Can  she  be  there  by  four  or  five  this  afternoon?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I'll  see  you  at  the  bay  —  at  the  launch  wharf 
—  in  half  an  hour?  I've  got  to  send  off  a  telegram." 

"  In  half  an  hour,"  said  she,  and  with  a  grave  smile 
and  a  wave  of  her  crop  she  disappeared  into  the  house. 


At  seven  that  evening  we  steamed  past  Sandy  Hook. 
At  ten — after  an  almost  silent  dinner — we  were  on  deck, 
leaning  side  by  side  at  the  rail,  near  the  bow.  We  were 
alone  on  the  calm  and  shining  sea.  No  land  in  sight, 
not  a  steamer,  not  a  sail — not  a  sign  of  human  existence 
beyond  the  rail  of  our  yacht.  Her  arm  slipped  within 
mine;  my  hand  sought  hers.  Not  a  sail,  not  a  streamer 
of  smoke.  Alone  and  free  and  together. 

I  forgive  you,  gentle  reader.     Go  in  peace. 

(7) 
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THE     SECOND     WIFE.    By  Thompson  Buchanan.  Illustrated 

by  W.  W.  Fawcett.    Harrison  Fisher  wrapper  printed  in  foul 
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An  intensely  interesting  story  of  a  marital  Complication  ic 
a    wealthy    New    York    family    involving    the    happiness    of   a 
beautiful  young  girl. 
TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY.    By  Grace  Miller  White 

Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 

An  amazingly  vivid   picture  of   low   class     life  in   a  Nev 
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FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF_THE  MISSING.    By  Grace  M23« 

White. 

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Another  story  of  "the  storm  country."    Two  beautiful  chU 
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after  showing  the    effects   of  a  deep,   malicious   scheme    behind 
their  disappearance. 
THE   LIGHTED   MATCH.     By  Charles  Neville  Buck,    IUus= 

trated  by  R.  F.  Schabelitz. 

A  lovely  princess  travels  incognito  through  the  States  and 
falls  in  love  with  an  American  man.    There  are  ties  that  bind  her 
to  someone  in  her  own  home,  and  the  great  plot   revohes   round 
her  efforts  to  work  her  way  out. 
MAUD    BAXTER.    By  C.    C.    Hotchkiss.    Illustrated  by  Wil* 

Grefe. 

A  romance  both  daring  and  delightful,  involving  an  Amer* 
tean  girl  and  a  young  man  who  had  been  impressed   into  English 
service  during  the  Revolution. 
fHE    HIGHWAYMAN.    By  Guy   Rawlence.     Illustrated  by 

Will  Grefe. 

;  A  French  beauty  of  mysterious  antecedents  wins  the  lot« 
of  an  Englishman  of  title.  Developments  of  a  startling  character 
ind  a  clever  untangling  of  affairs  hold  the  reader's  iuterest. 

THE    PURPLE    STOCKINGS.     By  Edward  Salisb^   Field 
Illustrated  in  colors;  marginal  illustrations. 

A  young  New  York  business  man,  his  pretty  sweetheart, 
his  sentimental  stenographer,  and  his  fashionable  sister  are  all 
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A  young  artist,  whose  wife  had  recently  divorced  him,  finds  thai 
ft  visit  is  due  from  his  Aunt  Selina,  an  elderly  lady  having  idea? 
about  things  quite  apart  from  the  Bohemian  set  in  which  he* 
nephew  is  a  shining  light.  The  way  in  which  matters  are  tempo 
ranly  adjusted  forms  the  motif  of  the  story. 

A  farcical  extravaganza,  dramatized  under  the  title  of  "Seven  Days" 

THE  FASHIONABLE    ADVENTURES   OF  JOSHUA 

CRAIG.     By  David  Graham  Phillips.     Illustrated. 
A  young  westerner,   uncouth  and  unconventional,  appears  in 
political  and  social  life  in  Washington.     He  attains  power  in  polh- 
tics,  and  a  jroung  woman  of  the  exclusive  set  becomes  his  wife,  un 
dertaking  ':%  education  in  social  amenities. 

*.POC.**  GORDON.     By  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman.    Illus- 

trated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Against  the  familiar  background  of  American  town  life,  tfce 
author  portrays  a  group  of  people  strangely  involved  in  a  mystery. 
"Doc."  Gordon,  the  one  physician  of  the  place,  Dr.  Elliot,  Lia 
assistant,  a  beautiful  woman  and  her  altogether  charming  daughtet 
are  all  involved  in  the  plot.  A  novel  of  great  interest. 

HOLY  ORDERS.     By  Marie  Corelli. 

A  dramatic  story,  in  which  is  pictured  a  clergyman  in  touch  with 
society  people,  stage  favorites,  simple  village  folk,  powerful  finan 
ciers  and  others,  each  presenting  vital  problems  to  this  man  "  in 
holy  orders  " — problems  that  we  are  now  struggling  with  in  America* 

KATRINE.    By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane.  With frontispiecec 
Katrine,  the  heroine  of  this  story,  is  a  lovely  Irish  girl,  of  lowly 

birth,  but  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice. 
The  narrative  is  based  on  the  facts  of  an  actual  singer's  career* 

and  the  viewpoint  throughout  is  a  most  exalted  one. 

THE   FORTUNES    OF  FIFI.    By  Molly  Elliot  SeaweLU 

Illustrated  by  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

A  story  of  life  in  France  at  the  time  of  the  first  Napoleon.  JKifL 
ft  glad,  mad  little  actress  of  eighteen,  is  the  star  performer  in  a  thirc 
rate  Parisian  theatre.  A  story  as  dainty  as  a  Watteau  painting. 

SHE  THAT  HESITATES.  By  Harris  Dickson.  Illus 
trated  by  C,  W.  Relyea. 

The  scene  of  this  dashing  romance  shifts  from  Dresden  to  Stc 
PeJ^rsburg  hi  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  and  then  to  New  Orleans. 

The  hero  is  a  French  Soldier  of  Fortune,  and  the  princess,  who 
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THE  GARDEN  OF  FATE.  By  Roy  Norton.  Illustrated 

by  Joseph  Clement  Coll. 

The  colorful  romance  of  an  American  girl  in  Morocco,  and 
of  a  beautiful  garden,  whose  beauty  and  traditions  of  strange 
subtle  happenings  were  closed  to  the  world  by  a  Sultan's  seal. 

THE  MAN  HIGHER  UP.     By  Henry  Russell  Miller. 

Full  page  vignette  illustrations  by  M.  Leone  Bracker. 

The  story  of  a  tenement  waif  who  rose  by  his  own  ingenuity 

to  the  office  of  mayor  of  his  native  city.    His  experiences 

while  "climbing,"  make  a  most  interesting  example  of  the 

possibilities  of  human  nature  to  rise  above  circumstances. 

THE  KEY  TO  YESTERDAY.      By  Charles  Neville 
Buck.    Illustrated  by  R.  Schabelitz. 

Robert  Saxon,  a  prominent  artist,  has  an  accident,  while  in 
Paris,  which  obliterates  his  memory,  and  the  only  clue  he  has 
to  his  former  life  is  a  rusty  key.  What  door  in  Paris  will  it 
unlock  ?  He  must  know  that  before  he  woos  the  girl  he  loves. 

THE  DANGER  TRAIL.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 
The  danger  trail  is  over  the  snow-smothered  North.    A 
young  Chicago  engineer,  who  is  building  a  road  through  the 
Hudson  Bay  region,  is  involved  in  mystery,  and  is  led  into 
ambush  by  a  young  woman. 

THE  GAY  LORD  WARING.    By  Houghton  Townley. 

Illustrated  by  Will  Grefe. 

A  story  of  the  smart  hunting  set  in  England.  A  gay  young 
lord  wins  in  love  against  his  selfish  and  cowardly  brother  and 
apparently  against  fate  itself. 

BY  INHERITANCE.    By  Octave  Thanet.     Illustrated 

by  Thomas  Fogarty.     Elaborate  wrapper  in  colors. 

A  wealthy  New  England  spinster  with  the  most  elaborate 

plans  for  the  education  of  the  negro  goes  to  visit  her  nephew 

in  Arkansas,  where  she  learns  the  needs  of  the  cok  red  race 

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QUINCY    ADAMS    SAWYER.      A  Picture  of  Nevs 
England  Home  Life.    With  illustrations  by  C,  W,^ 
Reed,  and  Scenes  Reproduced  from  the  Play.  « 

One  of  the  best  New  England  stories  ever  written.  It  is. 
full  of  homely  human  interest  *  *  *  there  is  a  wealth  of  New 
England  village  character,  scenes  and  incidents  *  *  *  forcibly, 
vividly  and  truthfully  drawn.  Few  books  have  enjoyed  a 
greater  sale  and  popularity.  Dramatized,  it  made  the  great* 
est  rural  play  of  recent  times. 

THE    FURTHER    ADVENTURES    OF    QUINCY 
ADAMS   SAWYER.     By   Charles  Felton   Pidgin. 
Illustrated  by  Henry  Roth. 
All  who  love  honest  sentiment,  quaint  and  sunny  humort 

and  homespun  philosophy  will  find  these  "  Further  Adven 

tures"  a  book  after  their  own  heart. 

HALF  A  CHANCE.     By  Frederic  S.  Isham.     Illus 
trated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

The  thrill  of  excitement  will  keep  the  reader  in  a  state  of 
suspense,  and  he  will  become  personally  concerned  from  the 
start,  as  to  the  central  character,  a  very  real  man  who  suffers, 
dares  —  and  achieves  I 

VIRGINIA    OF    THE   AIR    LANES.    By    Herbert 

Quick.    Illustrated  by  William  R.  Leigh. 
The  author  has  seized  the  romantic  moment  for  the  aWship 
novel,  and  created  the  pretty  story  of  "  a  lover  and  his  lass  n 
contending  with  an  elderly  relative  for  the  monopoly  of  the 
skies.    An  exciting  tale  of  adventure  in  midair. 

THE  GAME  AND  THE  CANDLE.     By  Eleanor  M 

Ingram.     Illustrated  by  P.  D.  Johnson.  * 

The  hero  is  a  young  American,  who,  to  save  his  family  from 

poverty,  deliberately  commits  a  felony.    Then  follow  his  cap- 

ture  and  imprisonment,  and  his  rescue  by  a  Russian  Grand 

Duke.    A  stirring  story,  rich  in  sentiment. 


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THE  NOVELS  OF 

GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEQN 

SRAUSTARK. 

A  story  of  love  behind  a  throne,  telling  how    4  young* 
American  met  a  lovely  girl  and  followed  her  to  a  new  antf 
strange  country,    A  thrilling,  dashing  narrative. 
BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK 

Beverly  is  a  bevyitching  American  girl  who  has  gone  t<; 
that  stirring  little  principality — Graustark — to  visit  her  friend 
the  princess,  and  there  has  a  romantic  aft  air  of  her  own. 
BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS. 

A  young  man  is  required  to  spend  one  million  dollars  in 
one  year  in  order  to  inherit  seven.     How  he  does  it  forms  the 
basis  of  a  lively  story. 
CASTLE  CRANEYCROW. 

The  story  revolves  round  the  abduction  of  a  young  Amer 
ican  woman,  her  imprisonment  in  an  old  castle  anc  the  adven 
tures  created  through  her  rescue. 
COWARDICE  COURT. 

An  amusing  social  feud  in  the  Adii-ondacks  in  which  an 
English  girl  is  tempted  into  being  a  traitor  oy  a  romantic 
young  American,  forms  the  plot. 
THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ANDERSON  CROW. 

The  story  centers  about  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  towt 
mnrshal  in  a  western  village.     Her  parentage  is  shrouded  it, 
mystery,  and  the  story  concerns  the  secret  that  deviously 
works  to  the  surface. 
THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S. 

The  hero  meets  a  princess  in  a  far-away  island  among 
fanatically  hostile  Musselmen.     Romantic  love  making  Amid 
amusing  situations  and  exciting  adventures. 
NEDRA. 

A  young  couple  elope  from  Chicage  to  go   to   London 
traveling  as  brother  and  sister.    They  are  shipwrecked  and  i 
strange  mix-up  occurs  on  account  of  it. 
THE  SHERRODS. 

The  scene  is  the  Middle  West  and  centers  around  a  ma* 
who  leads  a  double  life.    A  most  enthralling  novel. 
TRUXTON  KING. 

A  handsome  good  natured  young  fellow  ranges  on  tin 
earth  looking  for  romantic  adventures  and  is  finally  enmeshet 
in  most  complicated  intrigues  in  Graustark. 

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KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES  OF  PURE  DELIGHT 

Full   of  originality   and   humor,    kindliness   and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  trom  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
with  "Penelope's  Progress." 

i'he  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor 
der  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  against 
ne '/y  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit, 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautifu?  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artis 
tic,  unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  Englanclers.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe 
nomenal  dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE  O*  THE  RIVER.  With  illustrations  by  George 
Wright. 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
youog  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  where  the  reader  fol 
lows  the  events  with  rapt  attention. 

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LOUIS  TRACY'S 

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CYNTHIA'S     CHAUFFEUR.  Illustrated  by  Howard  Chandler 
Christy. 

A  pretty  American  girl  in  London  is  touring  in  a  car  with 
a  chauffeur  whose  identity  puzzles  her.    An  amusing  mystery. 

THE    STOWAWAY    GIRL.     Illustrated  by  Nesbitt  Benson. 

A  shipvrreck,  a  lovely  girl  stowaway,  a  rascally  captain,  a 
fascinating  officer,  and  thrilling  adventures  in  South  Seas. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  KANSAS. 

Love  and  the  salt  sea,  a  helpless  ship  whirled  into  the  hands 
of  cannibals,  desperate  figktmg  and  a  tender  romance. 

THE     MESSAGE.    Illustrated  by  Joseph  Cumminrs  Chase. 

A  bit  of  parchment  fonntl  in  the  figurehead  of  an  old  ves 
sel  tells  of  a  buried  treasure.    A  thrilling  mystery  develops. 

THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT. 

'  The  pillar  thus  designated  w*s  a  lighthouse,  and  the  auihoi 
tells  with  exciting  detail  the  terriol*  dilemma  of  its  cut  off  in 
habitants. 


THE    WHEEL   O'FORTUNE.     With  illustrations  by 
Montgomery  Flagg. 

The  story  deals  with  the  finding  of  a  papyrus  containing 
th-3  particulars  of  some  of  the  treasures  of  vho  Queen  of  Sheba. 

A   SON  OF   THE  IMMORTALS.      Illustrated     by   Howard 
Chandler  Christy. 

A  young  American  is  proclaimed  king  of  a  little  Balkan 
Kingdom,  and  a  pretty  Parisian  art  student  is,  thfc  power  behind 
the  throne. 

THE    WINGS   OF  THE  MORNING. 

A  sort  of  Robinson  Crusoe  redivivus  with  modem  settings 
and  a  very  pretty  love  story  added.  The  hero  and  heroine,  are 
the  only  survivors  of  a  wreck,  and  have  many  thrilling  adventures 
on  their  desert  island. 

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B.  M.  Bower's  Novels 

Thrilling  Western  Romances 

Large  12  mos.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.      Illustrated 

CHIP,  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

A  breezy  wholesome  tale,  wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and 
Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humorously  told.  Chip's 
jealousy  of  Dr.  Cecil  Grantham,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  big.  blua 
eyed  young  woman  is  very  amusing.  A  clever,  realistic  story  of 
the  American  Cow-puncher. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 

A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with  the  adventures  of 
eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys.     Foremost  amongst 
them,  we  find  Ananias  Green,  known  as  Andy,  whose  imaginative 
powers  cause  many  lively  and  exciting  adventures. 
HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

A  realistic  story  of  the  plains,  describing  a  gay  party  of  Eas 
terners  who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  the  rough  homeli 
ness  of  a  Montana  ranch-house.  The  merry-hearted  cowboys,  the 
fascinating  Beatrice,  and  the  effusive  Sir  Redmond,  become  living, 
breathing  personalities. 

THE  RANGE  DWELLERS  _ 

Here  are  everyday,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist. 
Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Romeo 
and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright,  jolly,  entertaining  story, 
without  a  dull  page. 

THE    LURE  OF  DIM  TRAILS 

A  vivid  portrayal  of  the  experience  of  an  Eastern  author, 
among  the  cowboys  of  the  West,  in  search  of  "local  color"  for  a 
new  novel.  "Bad"  Thurston  learns  many  a  lesson  while  following 
"the  lure  of  the  dim  trails"  but  the  hardest,  and  probably  the  most 
welcome,  is  that  of  love. 

THE   LONESOME   TRAIL 

"Weary"  Davidson  leaves  the  ranch  for  Portland,  where  con 
ventional  city  life  palls  on  him.  A  little  branch  of  sage  brush, 
pungent  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  prairie,  and  the  recollection  of 
a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  soon  compel  his  return.  A  wholesome 
love  story, 

THE  LONG  SHADOW 

A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with*  the  free,  outdoor, 
life  of  a  mountain  ranch.  Its  scenes  shift  rapidly  and  its  actors  play 
the  game  of  life  fearlessly  and  like  men.  It  is  a  fine  love  story  from 
start  to  finish. 

Ask  for  a  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction. 

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